


Irreplaceable

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Child Death, Childbirth, Coma, Death, Emotional Abuse, F/F, F/M, Genocide, Human Sacrifice, Immolation, Magic, OCs - Freeform, Physical Disability, Polygamy, Prologue, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Runes, Sacrifice, Seer, Trigger warning: abuse, Verbal Abuse, bad polygamy, multiple OCs - Freeform, oc: Aslaug Ivarsdottir, oc: King Faksi, oc: King Sverri, oc: Queen Kitta, oc: Uxi ivarsson, oc: Veifnr Ivarsson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-08-07 22:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 46
Words: 86,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: King Ivar spends much of his time with his first wife: neglecting his second wife, the mother of his children. Eventually, it catches up to him when a foreign King Sverri invades his lands.





	1. Prologue I: Ivar's First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed work from my tumblr @honestsycrets. 
> 
> I do recommend reading the mainline prior to reading the prologue but you can read it from prologue to mainline as well.

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f307e43b555dddf7ce6d092cf77d8f7e/tumblr_inline_pjqvtt7B3Q1v19l0n_1280.jpg)

Mainline begins at chapter twenty two. 

* * *

_”How does it feel?”_

_Strange. Bizarre. The prince shifted above you, sliding in and out of your body with minimal complaints from you. Your hands were shaking, heart palpitating and breath out in only the lightest of puffs. Your knees attempted to knock together, instead meeting his waist. For some stability, you reached out: weakly grasping his shoulders. The sensations were raw, splitting you deeply open... but left you aching for more of his body. Your lips were stolen by his, tangled in a weave of fate._

_“Good.”_

When you finally snap awake, you realize what had happened. Yet again you had fallen into fantastical dreams of the bright eyed prince that rattled you on his dick for ten days. You were reminded of the cycles of night and the cycles of day. How he chased you through the camp for your body but at the end of it all, disappeared like a wanderer in the mist. You constantly wonder if you’d see that bright eyed, gentle faced Ragnarsson again.

“(Y/N). Are you dreaming again?” Your father Faksi rattles you out of dream world. He scoops you out of his head boat and sets out towards Kattegat’s Great Hall like you were but one year old against his chest. You cling onto his wide shoulders, nuzzling against his scratchy wayward flying hairs of his beard. As he breaches the hall, his massive hands curl under your legs to prop you up as if you sat in a massive throne. Then like that, he sets you down too gently— and looks to the head of the chair.

There sat another King. King Ivar the Boneless… a Ragnarsson.

One of them anyway. Without looking well at the king, you look about the room for the only other Ragnarsson you knew. He wasn’t here. When your eyes train back on the King, his eyes have met yours. They’re as vividly bright as Ubbe’s were, but different, perhaps it was the arrogant quality that he brought on when he realized you were looking at him too. His overtunic was loose on his chest, revealing some of his tanned skin. Around his neck, a sole hammer drapes. You comb down the skirt of a silvery and cobalt blue dress, ensuring that it covered your legs.

“Fa… Father. He’s looking at me! Do I have to go?” You lean in against him.

“Then look back.” Faksi grins toothily, shedding his cloak to a thrall. He strides in on thunderous steps, bouncing the floor.

You took that as a yes.

“Ugh…” You murmur, shedding a cloak of bright blues sewn with silver thread. Without it, you feel nearly naked. The King has his knuckles at his chin as you step forward.

“KING IVAR!” Your father bellows and approaches the chair where Ivar sat. Beside him there was a slender but beautiful blonde. Her eyes were bright just as her hair was, laying in gently curled blonde twists down a popping orange dress. As she smiled at Faksi, a pair of dimples popping through her cheeks. When she turned to find you, they disappear all together.

“Hello King Faksi.” Ivar chuckles. “The raiding went well?”

From beside you, the men blew by with chests overfilling in riches. Coins of gold pieces scatter on the ground, Christian crosses glimmer from the top of the pile. Your father ran his fingers by his aging beard, tilting his head to the side. “You could say so.” He says sheepishly before nodding to the woman beside the King. “Queen Kitta.”

Ivar took up his crutch and braces himself to move down from his stoop. A moment passed-- seconds, minutes or even hours-- and he looks back to you. Again you saw the Queen glowering at you, a mere princess. You hold Ivar’s look for seconds before looking down to the vast array of rings on your fingers, spoiled rotten by your father.

“Good. But... I’m more interested in the girl.” Ivar motions to you. “Is she your wife?”

You sputter out a laugh, unable to take his insinuation. “No, no. Faksi is my father.” You come to Ivar’s side. Ivar slams his crutch down, leaning back to let his eyes shift over your body. Then his hand outstretches to the silver clip on your breast. A paramount moment where out of your peripheral vision, you could tell your father was shifting. Ivar’s hand pushes your loose strands of hair over your shoulder. Longer and finer than the Queen’s. The pride you father held was evident, the sharp creasing under his eyes turning up to Ivar.

“This is my daughter (Y/N)! Her mother hailed from Freyja!” He bellows. You could see the twinkling going off in Ivar’s eyes and you snap your hand against Faksi’s barrel of a chest. He rubs over the area. Ivar’s hand falls back to the one on a crutch, steadying himself.

“Father!” Your father grunts, with a slight ‘oof’ off his lips. Your lips churned into an irritable hiss at him-- as that was very personal information. Nevermind that it was carried on the lips of wanderers, it wasn’t something you wanted paraded about. Too late now. The men around whisper among one another.

Kitta intervenes. “We have heard of Princess (Y/N). My Ivar is a son of Odin.” She chimes with a proud singsong tune to her voice.

“I’ve heard great stories of his family. Especially the late Ragnar.” You nod, looking back to Ivar only to find that he isn’t where he was supposed to be. Instead he is limping around as if to encircle you. He reappears on the other side of you by Faksi.

“Your hair… are you unmarried?” He asks. You certainly could have been. Most married women, but not all, wore their hair up.  Despite the surrounding women he once was so close to. Yours is laid down past your ass where Ivar’s eyes just so happened to lay.

“No, I’m not married.” You answer, glancing over to him. You lean in beyond Kitta’s comfort, hands forming cups around the shell of Ivar’s ear. “But that isn’t to mean I’m a virgin.”

Ivar flinched back-- excitement? You wonder. Maybe that hadn’t ran him off as it ran off most kings. If he pointed out your marital state, perhaps it was for a reason. You pull away just as Kitta pushes herself up out of her chair and down the stairs. The Queen, you remind yourself, is a spicy woman who probably would not handle such things. Instead she surprises you by not turning her typical bitter glares upon you, but Ivar.

“If you’re so itching for another bride, I’m sure a daughter of Freyja would be just right for you. Odin and Freyja, what is better?” She bites, smiling sarcastically up to Faksi and breaking past you. You watch as Kitta’s blonde hair, lain perfectly against her shoulders, bobs out of the hall. Awkward, you thought.

“Not a fan of other wives is she?” Faksi whistles sharply as she left.

Ivar glances over his shoulder. The sigh at his lips heavy. “Because the Gods have closed her womb.” He says and like the wind, he slides away from the space between Faksi and you to care after his Queen. Faksi makes a ‘huh,’ as he came around to take your hand. He shows you out of the Great Hall to the animals outside in pins.

“My daughter… if he proposes to you,” Faksi glances around to ensure no one was about. “You should accept.”

You reach out to pat a lamb’s head. “He hardly knows me and he has a beautiful wife--”

“A wife that can’t give him sons. What good is she for his legacy?” Faksi cuts you short.

You certainly hope it isn’t so. That a woman’s worth wasn’t chalked up to how many babies she could have. But in the grand scheme of it all, you knew a King had to have children. The others around the village must have talked about how the king had no children-- because he was a cripple. To dispel the rumours, he had to do something.

“What if I do not want to marry Ivar the Boneless?” You say. “I don’t want to be second to her. Did you see how quickly he was to go after her? He loves her.”

Faksi sighs. “Most men want a virgin. Ivar will not care. He is different... and you will be safe with him. One day he might love you!” He says. Your mind flies back to the mistake you made with Ubbe.

_“I should not have done that.” Your lips pulled from Ubbe’s. His breath laved over your lips to set several quick and tender kisses to your lips._

_“You didn’t enjoy it?” He asked-- knocking you from your post-coitus bliss._

_“Of course I did. That is the problem, I am a woman. You couldn’t possibly understand.” You said. The features shift across his tense brow. First confusion, realization and at last, a flash of remourse. It wasn’t the same for women._

You shake the thought back out of your head, curving out your back and thrusting off of the gate. Ivar would not care, would he? You suppose if it was so, you would see about that later.


	2. Prologue II: Decisions

“Kitta.”

She never made it easy on him. She storms past Kattegat’s square to the soft, sinkable sand where Ivar’s crutch could not hold. He drops his crutches to the side, dug his fingers to the knuckles of his gloves into the sand to pull himself through where his wife siat. Her arms fold one over another.

“Oh he came! How lucky for me that he did not stay with her.” Kitta flicks her fingers up into the air.

“We’ve talked of this.” Ivar sighs, bowing his head down against his forearms.

“And it just so happens that you want that woman.” Kitta snears.

“What is wrong with her?” Ivar peeps up from the space of his arms.

“She’s the ‘most’ lovely woman the rumours are all about. She’s gorgeous like Freyja.” Kitta complains, slowing near the end of her statement. Of course you were. Freyja was your family. She must have kissed you with all she stood for, especially beauty.

“Can you blame me? Even you would want her.” Ivar says.

Then silence. Kitta plops back onto the sandy beaches with her hands above her head. Sending opportunity Ivar crawled his way over, cradling her face with his forearms. _Hmm?_ He says again.

“Of course I can’t!” She throws her hands up. “She’s desirable.”

Ivar curls down over her face, laying his forehead against hers. “Let me have her. She’d make the best addition as a wife.” Ivar hums. This time, Kitta holds up one of her slim fingers up in his face to tap his nose.

“She is the last wife you will take. That is it.” Kitta warns.

“I promise.”

* * *

You often find that isolating yourself is the worst possible thing you could do. Staying inside made you mystical to others and the rumours would fly like the raven on Ivar's banner. No, instead your feet bounce along the ground as a few girls ran after you. You had shared in the weaving of a loom, cooking of flat bread and now, play.

“An ashen fray, there it stands, here it is Yggdrasill, Yggdrasill.” You bounce from foot to foot, whirling about their little dance. The tune was low, jumping word to word. “Count the willing 1, 2, 3… 4, 5, 6… an offering for the All-Father… 7, 8, 9…. 10!”

Finally at ten the little girls stopped, dropping as if to play dead. You laugh and roll, bopping one’s blood deep gown when you notice eyes set upon you. Ivar sits outside in a chair, his crutch draped over his lap. Queen Kitta is nowhere to be seen. Whatever his problem was, he isn’t stopping. Finally you stand straight, gathering the bottom of your gown.

“Go finish your chores now.” You say to the group of girls.

“Yes Princess!” They shout in unison before separating into their own directions. Ivar leans back as you took large, prideful steps to stand in front of him. For a moment, you say nothing. So did he. Then you set your hands on your hips balled up.

“You love the gods.” He says.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” You suggest. Ivar shakes his head. There was no reason you shouldn’t, but most people did not sing so openly. He urges you closer and you follow, tensing when he offers you his thigh to sit on with a slap. It wasn't that you hadn't had your father's permission to do so. Faksi didn't just agree. He encouraged. 

“No, there isn’t. Sit on me.” Ivar slide his crutch aside. Nor was it that you didn’t want to sit on his lap. No, it was the thought that everyone was looking— and that yet again, a Ragnarsson was propositioning you. You open your mouth, but he knows your unspoken fears already.

“Kitta gave permission. She would be watching you if she hadn’t.” He says.

So you slide onto his lap, awkwardly holding onto his broad shoulders. You would pull your skirt to sit like… well, a princess. Ivar’s other hand came to settle on your hip.

“I meant to say… how good a mother you would be that you show those girls the true ways.” King Ivar says.

“How does that interest you?” You hum, leaning back when Ivar prompts you to relax. His arms shift, and enclosing you on his lap. His toned chest presses into your back.

“Because I want you.” Ivar rasps into your ear. “Like any other Viking should.”

“You know I’m no virgin.” You ask in an ariose lilt of a voice.

“What does it matter if I make you mine?” He hums. “If I am the only man to fill you with children— that will be all I need.”

Your mind feels heavy by the thought of it. The only one to fill you with children… you thought how easily it was that Ubbe bottomed out within you, the pulse of his seed kissing your cervix against his deep, smothered groans. Your first. He would always be special somehow.

“I’ll… see you tonight, my king.” You drop off of Ivar’s lap.

* * *

Air. You needed to walk around, enjoy the fresh air whirling about your head. You walk and walk for what seemed like miles on Kattegat's dusty roads until you round circled into the cabin you stayed in with your father. There, to your shock and partial disillusionment, you have another visitor.

“Queen Kitta!”

You bow your head, coming forward as your father prepared bread. An uncommon scene for your father... that was a woman's task. You took the loaf from his fingertips and smacked him with cloth. Kitta’s slight eyes move upon you.

“Princess.” Kitta turns a smile. “I was just telling your father how Ivar prepares to propose.”

Was that what it was? A proposal? It seemed more like a blatant statement of facts or feelings. You weren’t sure which it was entirely. You slide the bread onto a chopping board, easing your knife through the bread while your father bellows n excitement.

“I’d gladly give (Y/N) in marriage! She has another suitor: some random King. One that I’m surprised hadn’t ran off hearing she isn’t—“ Faksi began to prattle when Kitta held up her ringed hand.

“He isn’t a Ragnarsson now is he?” Kitta snaps. Then she comes toward your side, her hand atop of yours as you butter bread.

“Sweet (Y/N), I’m barren. That doesn’t mean he has to be as well. Ivar will take care of you. He will love you… and so will I, as my sister wife. Marry him when he proposes. Give him children.” Kitta says. At her last words, you find her eyes seem to water and ache, deeply pained by her nonfunctional womb. Its enough that you want to say yes, for her.

But at the same time you want to babble out you’re complaints that— no, you didn’t want to be a wife to a married man. No! You wanted something else. But if you were being fair, you loved how Ivar looked upon you at dinner. You look up to Kitta, offering her bread.

“I’ll think about it. Would you like to learn to cook our native bread?”

She nods.

* * *

_Marry King Ivar: lose thoughts of Ubbe._

__

__

_Don’t marry King Ivar: be a spinster for the rest of your life._

Or maybe not, you reason, tucking bits of white buds into your hair. You could always marry the strange King. The one that you didn’t know if was your age, or ten more, or even twenty at that! You twirl the bouncy stem of a green flower in your fingers, deciding what to do when you finally concede. The men were drunk and wild at your father’s table, and much through the night, Ivar watches you curiously. No one dared approach you that night.

“Faksi! I’d like to extend an offer,” King Ivar’s voice cut through the crowd towards Faksi.

Faksi turns his eye upon Ivar. “What is it?!” He bellows back. Always bellowing, you're not sure how your ears haven't gone numb.

Ivar stumbles down through the crowd with crutch in hand, limping until he found himself at eye level with you. “I want to marry your daughter. For the glory of Odin and Freyja— whom my mother worshipped.”

You felt buzzing in your ear as he takes your hand, a glistening bright ring in his finger. Ivar leans into your ear, among the roar of the crowd. “Be my wife.” He whispers, coaxing you with his slight voice into agreement. Faksi eagerly slams his cup against his friend’s, eager for your response.

“I’ll do it. I’ll be your wife.”


	3. Prologue III: An Equal Partnership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader marries Ivar Ragnarsson with Kitta at her side.

No backing out of this. With the handsal made, you were getting married. Kitta kept an iron fist over the arrangements and now she was tightening the binds of your dress as you stand perfumed in rich spices in front of her. Your hands come to her hands as she pulls the thin strings tight, squeaking out a protest.

“It’s tight.” You whine. Kitta slides around in front of you, looking over the golden embroidery in triangles and swirls traveling vertically down your waist. She hushes you to the sound of the roaring cry of Faksi and Ivar sacrificing a goat, sow and horse to Thor, Freyja and Freyr respectively.

“Today, more than any, they’re going to be judging you. Everything must be perfect.” Kitta hisses, her face framed by bobbing blonde hair.

“I don’t know about this.” You shake your hands out near your face. Kitta arranges a crown of sunshine bright flowers that had slender petals on your head. Against the yellow, buds of white are woven into your hair as a contrast along wispy strands. You peep outside of the tent of blanched fabric. Ivar gathers rich furs in one hand, dipping them into large wooden bowl of thick, red blood. As the colours of white dyed to red, you know time was ticking down. Your stomach curdles like storming clouds despite the clear skies and fat, fluffy clouds.

“It is the nerves. You’re faring better than I did. I threw up on my wedding day.” Kitta reminisces.

“You did?” You ask.

She nods. “During the sex talk, anyway. Mother had to redress me then after the ceremony, Ivar’s sword was stuck in the beams in the Great Hall and then I spilled his mead.” Kitta remarks, looking both a bit amused and perturbed all in one. That occurrence was a bad, bad omen. Even so, you suppose that the gods have smiled upon Kitta as they were still married.

“Your wedding day was eventful.” You put it lightly. “Mine will be awkward.”

Less because of Ivar, more because of you. You fiddle with your painted nails against the hem of the curtains as Kitta fixed gold earrings and a jeweled necklace Faksi supplied. These were your mothers! Faksi had said, to remember the woman you never knew.

Suddenly, you let out a sharp squeal, darting away from the curtains and back towards the middle of the room despite Kitta fastening a sheer, thin wrap to accentuate your thick hips. She is forced to follow after you.

“He’s coming!” You squeak with hands at the sides of your face. Kitta smacks your hands, warning you not to ruin the kohl on the top of your eyes or rouge powdering your cheeks. But you couldn’t help it! Your nerves are strung so tight you thought you might choke on puffs of air that you are forcing out of your body.

“(Y/N), look at me. He’ll take care of you if you let him. Breathe, princess.” Kitta says grasping your hands on the sides of your face.

“Breathe?” You hiccup. Breathe, she said. She holds you in place taking a breath in and out, in and out. At long last, you release a breath and nod to her just as the flaps of the tent wisp with the outside wind.

“Take your wedding woes away, Kitta. You’re scaring her.” Ivar teases as he approached Kitta. She snuffs his words with a pouty display of her slender lips, accentuating her aquiline nose.

“Why would you say that?” Kitta huffs.

“Because I can hear you prattling on about old stories from outside.” He mutters, peeling away Kitta’s shoulder to move her aside. She gives you one last glance: longing, jealous and unabashed as she steps out of the tent. Ivar hums, giving you his hand to turn you around in a flurry of your skirts. You spin back to face him just as he curls you into his arms. His breath tickles the side of your face.

“Mmm.” He says. “If you aren’t the perfect bride.”

And that was when you were supposed to say something back-- like how his overtunic was tailored perfectly to his tanned chest or how the charm of Mjolnir fit him just so. You could have even remarked on how his hair curled around to frame his face... but no. You just gawk at him, bowing your head and a crown of flowers shyly tilting with.

“Ah… I…” You stutter.

“Are you ready?” He interrupts, a hand around your back now. He lead you out of the tent-- and if you weren’t ready, you had better be now. The crowds that gather about the scene aren’t just the Kings you knew or your father and husband to be. You recognize other kings and jarls that cluster about, all eager to watch the sprinkling of blood and trade of rings atop of two glistening swords.

“Ivar, do you swear onto the gods, that you want to marry this woman?” The volva says, hands on either sides of his face. You hold your hands tightly against the grip of your father’s blade as Ivar stares blankly at her. Then he begets a nod. “I swear by the gods.”

Then she comes to you, sliding her hands against your cheeks. “(Y/N), do you swear by the gods, that you want to marry this man?” She asks. Your eyes stare into her bright eyes, debating a yes or a no, when you nod.

“By all the gods, especially Freyja, I want to marry Ivar.” You say, looking into Ivar’s eyes. They seem to leap in excitement by the undeniable smile that pulls his cheeks in a rare smile. The volva screeches that you are married-- and you glance up to the heavens before sliding the point of your sword down to take the ring.

“Let me do it.” Ivar interrupts you.

“I’ve entrusted her to you King Ivar! You had better spoil her!” Faksi warns. Ivar gives a slight smirk, easing the ring along the third finger of your left hand. He threads a necklace with his own ring around his neck.

Then before you can honestly get an edge in otherwise, Ivar yanks you forward. Your hands clumsily set on his chest, lips enveloped by Ivar’s eager ones. He takes the shocked breath from your lips, sliding his lips against your pillowy ones. You tentatively kiss him back, the irony scent of blood on your faces a healthy distraction. Then as you pull away, Ivar holds you around your waist for a few sweet moments longer.

“I’ll do more than that Faksi.” Ivar thows back over his shoulder. “Look at my wife!” He gleams with pride. But from the very depths of the crowd you saw Kitta’s forced and hard smile, attempting to let go of what was her only husband. She had to share. You were a married to a Ragnarsson now: just as she was. 

The rest of the night proceeded smoothly. You didn’t stumble when breaching the Great Hall’s doors after the bridal race and Ivar certainly didn’t get his sword stuck in the supporting beams. But, after a while, your drunken fingers did spill a little bit of mead down his hand.

“Oops.” You giggle, taking up Ivar’s sticky fingers for a suckle and a giggle. His thick fingers slip from your lips with a wet pop and Ivar would drift his thumb back to your lower lip to caress your lip.

“You’re going to be trouble, I can tell.” Ivar leans in, his nose tipping up the tassels of your earrings. He quickly slides you out from your chair into his. The kisses became easier with every drink, and by now, your lips eagerly caress his.

“How could you tell that?” You mumble, hands drifting lower and lower until they hit the waist of his trousers. He glances around; Faksi is prattling along with some foreign kings. Much of the wedding goers are drinking or dead drunk. It… wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. If he didn’t know Kitta’s eyes were watching him-- and that he’d get in so much trouble for slathering the Great Hall in his spunk. Somehow, he doesn’t care.

Your swift fingers slide his cock into the cool air between your stomachs, fisting him easily into hardness. He sputters with his drink, sliding his hands underneath your dress to hike it back up over your knees while you slicken Ivar’s cock with saliva that was once on your palm and lean up, your hips hovering above him for only seconds before he feels himself being swallowed by your tight walls.

“Fuucck…. You’re so impatient.” Ivar’s fingers tighten along his horn harshly as you rock him inside, pushing him deeply in until you hilt.

“I haven’t had sex in years.” You mutter against his ear.

“I can feel that.” Ivar brings the horn to your lips, spilling the mead as you squeeze his dick inside. Your hips begin to shift, sliding him out as inconspicuously as possible before sliding back down. Ivar’s hips shift up as you slide down, taking up your lips in another kiss. Ivar sets down the horn and his hands drop to your ass, keeping you in place on his dick while you rock your hips.

“They’re going to see you.” Ivar chides against his lips. “Something tells me you like that.”

Maybe you did-- you didn’t like to be a little secret. Here and now, you could take Ivar for all his cock was worth. Ivar carefully lifts you on his dick, grunting as he moved inside of you. The sound of drums thumping and men talking came closer and closer-- Faksi speaking with Kitta.

“He really likes her.” Kitta says, glancing back to find Ivar’s hands forcing you up his cock before right back down. At the least, the thralls knew what was happening. She knew too. As soon they shifted for some covering. Your pleasant kisses became mean, bruise inducing bites down his neck. Ivar hisses in response, knowing that it was an attempt to claim him. Claim him knowing that he had Kitta right there watching your body trying to milk the seed right out of him. He wasn’t one to fight your electric body, rolling your hips as you hilt over and over again.

“I’d say!” Faksi threw out a laugh. “It seems I won’t have to show them to her room! I am going to bed. Before I see something I regret.” He gave her an encouraging to pat on her shoulder, strolling off in another direction whistling with his horn of mead. Ivar’s hands clench tightly, willing his orgasm off as you take him deep. Thrust after thrust, your body seems to try to devour him, rolling your hips onto his.

“Let it happen.” You came back to his lips, devouring him in a hungry kiss. For only seconds you pull away, hot breath tickling his when he lets go. He shoves your hips down every inch of his cock, arching his hips into yours to cum. His seed paints your pussy, his thick spunk coating your walls. With a few forced breaths, he comes down from his orgasm with a shaking groan.

“Get up. We’re going back to your room.” Ivar commands, pulling your skirts down as you slide off of him. “I was pathetic. Let me fuck you properly.”

And so, Kitta watched her husband leave to breed his new wife.


	4. Prologue IV: What I Care About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar doesn't know what it is like to be with a fertile woman. Accidents... happen.

It was Kitta’s weekend with Ivar.

Your sister wife deserved her time alone. She never once came complaining about your time with Ivar. But illogically… you felt jealous. He really should have been the one stroking your hair as you fought through waves of your stomach turning. A fresh new feeling where any time you ate, even when you didn’t eat, you were sick.

“My lady I think you might be with child.” Your thrall chimes, voice trilling in song. She was a baby faced girl with waving brown hair and gentle eyes. Obedient, quiet... she never made a fuss. The only time you saw her act out of turn was when she saw something she desired. A thrall, but a thrall with needs and wants. The day Ivar granted her to you, you saw her eyes glimmering like garnets at your dress. She had a love for rich blue fabrics. You gifted her a dress of one as you so appreciated her. At no more than twelve, you loved her.

“I think so too, Ragnhild.” You curl on your side. She rushes to your side with slender strips of thin fabric patting down the beads of sweat on your head that felt muggy and hot.

“Should I get King Ivar? He will be so happy!” She suggests. You hush her with a bout of nausea overchurning your stomach.

“No, no… leave it. It is Kitta’s weekend. Come lay in bed with me instead.” You say through panted breathes, motioning her close. You would be damned if you would cut in on Kitta's time by your own fault. The last thing you wanted to do was to scorn the queen. There had been people killed for less. As young Ragnhild curls under your chest, you tuck her close, focusing on each breath until you fell into a restful sleep.

* * *

“Why did she not come to dinner last night? Or for breakfast?” Ivar digs his spoon into a rich porridge, glancing over to his brother. Hvitserk flips his spoon around a few times, tongue laving leftover grain from the inside of his fluffy cheeks. It had been eating him all night before. Yet, like Kitta said, perhaps you were not hungry. You much rather spend your time around Kattegat as the sweetest of rulers. Kitta had as cruel of a hand as Ivar. Everyone knew it. You, on the otherhand, were sweet. 

“Maybe she is upset with you.” Hvitserk suggests. Ivar scoffs, unable to find why you would be so irked with him. There had been no ‘first fight’ yet. He took care of you, had bought you new gold pieces and fine jewelry-- finer than Kitta’s. It had to be. While Kitta came from a farming home, you came from something much more than that. You were the Princess of Faksi, a man that made himself king just like his father had. Everyone would question him if your jewelry wasn’t fine.

“It could be that she wanted to give us alone time.” Kitta says, swigging her chalice around. Drops of her drink spill over her hand. There’s a very real possibility that it is true. Still, Ivar thrusts his spoon into the bowl with irritation.

“Is that a good reason to hide from me?” He asks, letting his hand rake under Kitta’s chin. He grips her chin.

“Then go find her if you’re so worried.” Kitta sets her hands into her lap. “I’ll stay with Hvitserk.”

* * *

It wasn’t only that you hadn’t shown up. It was knowing another man had been with you. A nonsensical fear but a fear nonetheless. He worried who might try to sweep you out under his fingers and despite it only being a few weeks over a month since he married you— it nagged him. It wasn’t as if that other suitor hadn’t been still wearing on his mind. He presses into the room to find you fixing the curl in your hair by pulling it out of a braid. Of course there was no other man around, he never expected to walk in on someone under the sheets. It was more the itch that he needed to tend to every time he was away.

“Ivar? Why are you here?” You ask. Ragnhild tends to your bed, laying sheets down before furs. It was the last day of Kitta’s time with Ivar before he would come back to warm your bed for two days.

“You haven’t eaten with Kitta and I. Why?” He says, his eyes scarcely leaving yours. You motion him to come closer, turning in a long nightgown to face him. He stops in front of you as you battle with the right words. His eyebrow cocks, tipping his head to the side as your hands fiddle around your stomach.

“What is it?” He asks.

“Because I think… I think I’m with your child.” You say in breathy, shaken puffs.

He just stares. He stares and stares until you reach out to shake him from his shock, your hands reaching for his. He gives into your touch, sliding his hand to the curve of your belly.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“I haven’t bled heavily since we married.” You say matter of factually.

Ivar rubs his hand over your stomach. The corners of his lips pull up into a weak smile-- as if he wanted to trust that it would happen. Kitta never spoke to you about her infertility. Whether she lost children or couldn’t become pregnant at all was nothing you would know about. But from the look etched over Ivar’s face, it had been a fight of miscarriages with poor, sweet Kitta.

“Lay down.” Ivar says, redirecting you back to your bed. You slide back onto the furs, glancing over as Ragnhild stands at attention beside Ivar. Ivar hands her his crutch, falling forward onto the bed and dragging himself on.

“Tell Kitta that she is pregnant, girl.” He motions her to leave. As your sweet girl darts out of the room, you turn back to your husband with your lower lip tight between your teeth. Not only is this… unsettling for you, but you know that this was Kitta’s time. It fills you with guilt to know you swiped it from her with only a few words.

“Ivar…” You say just as his ear meets your slightly distended stomach.

“I don’t care what she says.” Ivar says, his fleshy digits drawing spirals around your stomach. “Right now, I only care about my son, Uxi… and you.”


	5. Prologue V: New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months have passed since reader became pregnant, Kitta feels a bit left out. Maybe she can bond.

As your body changed, Ivar became doting. He often brought you whatever you needed, beat off anyone too close or gave you the love you needed. But there was one that was most interesting to you.

You quickly learned that your husband had a fetish.

Or at least, you didn’t know what else to call it when he was like this. His hands are deep in the furs by your head, hips rutting deep into your body as you take him so well. Your hands on the other hand lazily stroke up along his forearms to his biceps, gasping as he sinks in and out of your body. Much of the time, he surprised you like this: sinking his dick into you whatever chance you would give him. As you were not Queen Kitta, but Princess (Y/N), you have a lot of time on your hands. A fact that Ivar fully abuses.

“You’re so tight-- fuck, fuck.” Ivar groans, his hands fisting the furs. “How am I supposed to get enough of you?”

You wish you could answer-- but with your cunt throbbing around his cock, all you could focus on was the delicious way he slid in past your quivering walls. “Iv.... Ivar...” You rasp out. Ivar’s forearms drop down flatly to support himself. The closeness of Ivar brushing his muscles against your round, taut stomach throws your body into overdrive, rocking your widened hips onto his. Ivar ducks his head down as if to look at your cunt but finds the swell of his brood blocking his view.

“Don’t say it like that,” He growls. His mouth moves against your neck. Then moments later he spills his seed with hushed moans into your cunt. You mewl too with your peak sliding quickly away from you. Ivar knows as much as he slides out, crawling back down to your cunt. His middle finger hooks into your sweet entrance as he laps along your labia, swirling his tongue up and down your slit with his other hand working your clit.

Your hands fall to the back of his braids, tugging at the bits of hair that fell out of the fabric wrapping behind his head. He didn’t have to work you hard as close as you were-- easily, you came all over his face despite the fact that you couldn’t even really see him over your baby bump. You hide behind your long hair as he moves back up, eyes traveling along the way your hair frames your belly and curves.

“Perfect…” Ivar mutters. Ivar drifts back to your side and lays on his back with a pleased hum. His head drop back into downy pillows beside you, a hand loose along your shoulder by the time you roll comfortably onto one side. 

“It won’t be long now.” Ivar laments with his hand to your stomach. “I’ll miss you so full of me.”

“We can always have another.” You say in a low gentle hum. Your fingers clumsily meet one of his hands on his stomach. He leans forward, his lips pursing against your forehead. His lips begin to pull into a smile. You were right-- he could always have another.

* * *

Most days, Ivar doesn’t leave your side. Kitta knew he was excited with the weeks passing and passing. Your stomach expanded and anywhere Ivar went, he seemed to boast about the pregnancy. Foreign kings and earls would come and of course the first one Ivar reached for was you so that he might boast about his child. He wasn't the issue. It was she that couldn't carry children… and as the days and weeks turned to months, she began to feel the hate brewing in her belly more than any child ever had.

“Are you coming to bed tonight?” Kitta asks through their shared room. She pulls garnet earrings from her lobes and tucks them away. From the bed, Ivar grunts in response while removing his days’ clothes.

“I am here, aren't I?” Ivar leers. She slips out of her dress and into a nightgown, starting towards the bed. 

“That could always change.” Kitta snaps back. “You’re always over there.”

Ivar runs his fingers past the short hair on the side of his head, loosening the tight braids on his head. This was exactly why he loathed coming back to bed with Kitta as of late. It would be one thing if she was actually happy to see him. Every time he was here, it was like being in a room with his brothers. Far from the days after battle that Kitta and he bantered backwards and forwards together.

“She is pregnant. I expect she has a greater need for me than you.” Ivar says.

“I have needs, I’ve gone too many days without you in my bed.” Kitta shoves him back onto the chocolatey furs of his bed, straddling his hips carefully. Ivar’s head falls back, rolling his tongue along the jagged edges of his teeth.

“Of course you do.” His hands came atop of her hips, rolling his hips against her. “Have I been a bad husband?”

“A terrible one.” It safe to say, Ivar didn’t leave her room that weekend.

* * *

The contractions came early in the morning-- but you busied yourself with ignoring them with things to do. The little girls of Kattegat loved to run their tiny hands over your bump and you could hardly blame them, they were curious. Eventually though, Kitta sends them away.

“You can tell them no.” The strong voice of your sister wife-- Kitta, came from beside you within the Great Hall. You stop threading a piece of thread through a shaking needle as she spoke. Kitta approaches you in bed. You take the needle back to stitching the embroidery of when it hit you; another deep contraction that stole your breath cleanly out of your lips. It lasts far too long. Suddenly you were damn well glad that Ivar was on his throne listening to the whines and worries of his people.

“You’re in labour?” Kitta asks.

“Being in is subjective.” You drop your shoulders back. Never had you felt such a bizarre, hot stretching pain between your legs. “Approaching.”

Kitta’s jaw knit tight to grind her teeth together as she came into your bed. Her flaxen hair tickles the swell of your stomach and Kitta would place a small kiss on top. Not an unusual occurrence either. Technically, it was another weekend with Ivar-- but considering you were in labour, she already knew that Ivar wouldn’t be hers once he realized that you were going to give birth.

“Ivar will want to be with you.” Kitta doesn’t realize she was pouting when she looks up to you. Your hand fell through the natural highlights in her hair, combing down the wily blonde locks.

“I’m sorry. If… If I could control it, it would have been my weekend.” You flush.

“We don’t control anything, (Y/N). You know this.” She says. Everything in life was in the hands of the gods-- good or bad. Kitta moves to sit back up when another contraction hit you, knuckles white against what you were embroidering. As it stills, you stand up to walk about the room, pacing side to side more than walking. Kitta came beside you, offering her hand to support you.

“Does it hurt now?” She asks curiously.

“It doesn’t ever stop.” You respond, swatting her playfully. “Did you think it wouldn’t?”

“I never got this far. I miscarried as quickly as I became pregnant.” Kitta chuckles, looking up to the thick wooden supporting beams. Easier to laugh than cry for her. Though, if your eyes weren’t betraying themselves, tears were gathering.

“Oh Kitta…” You sigh. “I’m s-ORRY!”

You stop, your hands forming vices on her forearms. You stand, hissing by the pain in your womb. Kitta stifles a laugh that quickly fails and slides out of her lips. Your eye cracks open enough to whop her in the stomach. You came back from the pain for air.

“Hush!” 

For most of the morning, your pains were manageable. The further you got into the day, however, the worst the aches became. At the verge of dinner, you were gasping with the pain, sucking in hot breath and whining. The worse it became to deal with, the worse you handled the spearing between your legs with a grip clenching the colour out of Kitta’s hand.

“Ragnhild, go get Ivar and a midwife. Tell him to hurry.” Kitta says. The other thralls and she help you lower onto the ground on all fours.

“Yes my Queen!”

A mere few minutes later, Ivar crawls into the room. The midwife is only minutes behind, pushing the sheer white dress away from your bottom. Her fingers prod deep through your walls, ignoring your sharp suckle with her fingers deep against your cervix. Then she nods as if Kitta was right to call her.

“I’m going to have you push with your pain, my lady.” The midwife says. You quickly find that pushing with your pain didn’t necessarily ache any more than the agony you were already in. But that didn’t mean the aches weren’t any less. You’re minimally aware of Kitta’s hand stroking your back with Ivar on the other side of you, whispering soft things in your ear while he watching you strain with pain of your labour. His calloused fingers occasionally reach out to rub away the tears or licks of hair that obscured his view.

After what seemed like forever, a sharp cry pierced straight through the room. Your eyes dart up towards Ivar past sweaty strings of your hair. His lips churn a wide smile, eyes glistening bright as he moves to sit up. The midwife brings his son, wiped down and bundled in warm grey cloth to him. He feels as if his hands were those of peasants, shaky and unsure of how to hold him. While the midwife delivered the afterbirth, Kitta came beside to guide his hands in a proper position.

“My son.” Ivar says at first, knuckles brushing up against his cheek. “We have a son.”

He looks over as you weakly move over to him, setting your head against his shoulder. Ivar set his pinky in the little boy’s tiny grip. Kitta shifts out of the room— but even now, Ivar is too enamoured to move. The boy’s eyes are slight and dazed, glittering a brilliant blue.

“Hello sweet Uxi.”


	6. Prologue VI: A Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader agrees to something she probably shouldn't have. Kitta begins to spiral-- and not in a good way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added this Kitta/Reader/Ivar sex scene on the request of one of my readers. So please know that this chapter does include that if its potentially triggering for you. Some manipulation here on Kitta's behalf as well.

Having a baby changed a lot about your life. Little Uxi was Ivar’s pride and joy, of course, but it had been months since you had sex with Ivar. Perhaps it was because Uxi was up constantly… but more likely, it was because Ivar was overcompensating for the nearly ten months Kitta was at a lack of her husband. It was… expected. You should have expected it. Yet your stomach squelched, painfully jealous of the kisses and love she received at night with him boarding with her.

Perhaps also, you longed for a full night’s rest and to feel sexy again. Ragnhild warmed the spot of your husband, bringing Uxi to you in the middle of long nights and cool moments in the early dawn but it wasn’t the same. At some point, you slip out of your warm cave of a room with Uxi bundled up tight. Ivar’s eyes follow you across the wooden hall as if surprised that you finally emerged. Rather than talk to him, however, you sit beside the heavy oak table beside Hvitserk.

“Have you asked her?”

Kitta whines in Ivar’s ear. He breaks his stare from your direction over to his first wife. Her toes tickle against his leather boots, commanding his attention back towards her as if he should have never turned his eye toward you.

“No.” Ivar brought his empty cup to hover by his lips. “I haven’t slept with her since she gave birth. You’ve kept me hostage.”

Four-- he thought. How strong you had been to take care of his son without his help while he tended to Kitta’s weak heart. But now his first wife was asking something of him that he didn’t know if he could supply.

“Ask her.” Kitta presses, grating on the thin fibers of his patience. Ivar sets down his mead and swallows harshly as you slide Uxi into Hvitserk’s arms. Hvitserk’s cheeks glow with either the booze and jubilation of holding his nephew. The King whistles, calling you over with a flick of his wrist. After ensuring that Hvitserk has Uxi, you walk over to your husband. His hands quickly wander across your hips.

“Husband--” You smile.

“I have something to ask you.” He cut you short, taking your fingers to his lips in a small kiss. Kitta urges him on with his question, stroking her shoe over his braces.

“What is it?” You say, looking between the couple. Your smile is bright and wide-- making him feel a pang of guilt for the question he is about to pose without so much as having a night with you to himself. He had been aching for one for months.

“Kitta wants to take you to her bed.” Ivar leans forward to pull you in when you resist him. Your lips widen into a small oval while backing away, minding your skirts so that you would not fall over yourself. Ivar’s hands keep yours.

“I don’t know if that is why you took me as your wife--” You harshly pull your hands up from him. “--But I’m not going to be your sex toy.”

Ivar loses your hands completely as you rush away from him back towards Hvitserk. Like some pathetic dog, he lurches forward to try and steal your hands back. Almost pathetically he misses, dropping to the furs below with a grunt. He feels a foreign burn in his chest— never once had he experienced you running away from him like that. His head snaps back to Kitta who has left her seat. Her dark shoes step down from beside you. She catches you and tightens her pale arms around your hips in such a snug, milky dress.

“It was my idea.” Kitta whispers while pushing away your long hair from the shell of your ear. Her lips press along the shell of your ear, then move down along your neck. Her hand cups your breast, enticing you with small gropes. You almost lose control of a moan when out of the corner of your eye; you caught Hvitserk staring at Kitta’s plain dominance over you.

“I… I’m not much into threesomes.” You stutter. “And I’ve never been with a woman.”

Kitta hums delightedly. “There’s always a first time.” In front of everyone-- her hand shifts under your skirts, massaging your calves before moving higher and higher. You grasp her hand as it approaches your midthigh, short of showing off what silken skin Hvitserk did not need to see. 

“I… I’ll try.” You say. Uxi was fast asleep-- and should be a while longer. Ragnhild sits beside Hvitserk to care after the child. So perhaps… perhps you would be free to enjoy yourself? Kitta grasps your wrist, whirling you back toward your husband who brought himself back onto his chair some time ago.

“Let’s go?” You say shyly, hands at your lips. He takes up his crutch.

Kitta was dominating. She takes you to her rooms adorned in deep reds. Her tapestries clearly display Ivar’s covers and she has a number of spears and axes hanging above the brown furs of the bed. Ivar takes a seat in the corner, his hands over the etched wooden spirals of his chair as Kitta grips handfuls of your ass, peeling the underdress and thinner overdress up over your head. His view was slightly obscured by thick locks tumbling back down around your hips. His gaze lingers across your round ass, bringing his hand on top of his firming erection. Your hands fall back to your breasts for coverage despite her hands wandering down to your ass, mouthing wet kisses against your neck and shoulders. Her hands roam your body-- almost as if she deserves this. She deserves your body, the one of rumours, in her bed.

“K… Kitta I…” Your hands come up to your cheeks. You feel weak in her arms: a fact she relishes as she spun you back around. Her fingers massage your feminine mound, sliding between your soaked lips to tease your clit with only a few well placed strokes.

“She wants more.” Kitta stares at Ivar as if you weren’t in the room.

“So give it to her.” Ivar withdraws his cock, lazily pumping his dick in his palm. “She isn’t going to cum from a few kisses and love.”

Kitta glides her wrist gingerly tease your entrance. You shuddered when her thin fingers pressed you open, pushing past walls that hadn’t been used in months with her two middle fingers. You suddenly feel exposed.

“Look how unloved her cunt is.” Kitta snarks over to Ivar. “She’s eating me up. What kind of husband are you?” She throws back to Ivar. Her fingers sink in deep in your walls, sliding back out just as quickly to fuck you with her willowy fingers. Ivar’s hips buck into his hand as you squirm; but Kitta keeps you in place the whole time.

“A bad one…” Ivar mumbles while Kitta edges you closer, despite your legs feeling like limp cloth. She walks you closer to your husband and supports your weight. Ivar rakes his hand across the side of your hip as Kitta’s supporting hand dropped to spread your lips apart for Ivar. Your hands jerk to his broad shoulders, as if it could stabilize your weak legs under Kitta’s fingertips.

“Make her feel good.” Kitta demands. Instantly your husband leans in, suckling each of your inner lips. His free hand forms a V with both middle and forefinger along your lips, flicking his tongue along your clit.

“Ivar…” You groan, pressing his head in deeper. He hummed in acknowledgement against your pussy, the vibrations making your shoulders shudder.

“Don’t be so shy, (Y/N). Move your hips. Fuck his face. Take what you want from him.” Kitta presses her husband’s head in abruptly-- and tentatively, you roll your hips forward onto his tongue. Ivar chuckles warmly, devouring your movements up with an eager tongue. Your cheeks felt warm between Kitta and Ivar. You quickly found that she was as rough as he was, guiding your hips against his face while Ivar laps your juices up, molesting the ever aching nub that was your clit. Your hands cringe against Ivar’s body, your peak growing and growing in your lower stomach until Kitta shoves Ivar back in his chair. He sits with a huff, chest swelling and dropping in his excitement

“Ki… Kitta!” You whine. The back of Ivar’s hand wipes away your sweetness when Kitta turns you to straddle your husband.

“Finish her off. I want to taste you together.” Kitta demands, leading Ivar’s dick closer your unloved entrance. Ivar takes ahold of your hips and sinks you down in time with Kitta’s hands. You’re distantly aware of your sister wife falling to her knees behind you, level with your round ass. There she can take in every inch of Ivar’s glistening dick under your slick.

Before you could help it, Ivar’s hands rise you up and down his shaft. His own hips rise up when you sunk down. You hold onto his shoulders-- gliding him in and out with an effortless roll of your hips. Ivar’s chapped lips part, small moans puffing from his lips.

“Now this, you know.” Kitta chides cruelly-- this time, you could feel her hot breath tickling against the union between your husband and you. A sudden wetness alerts you to Kitta’s tongue, raking across your cunt and his shaft, then lower. Ivar sucked in air, hips momentarily stilling while you ride him. 

“Fuck Kitta, nasty ball-sucking bitch.” Ivar snarls. Although you couldn’t see it, her tongue was running across his tightening balls. Kitta, as sneaky as she was, slips her hand between the space of your bodies to massage your clit, hiking you within moments of your orgasm. In an abrupt decision, your lips catch Ivar’s as you came for Kitta, walls milking Ivar of his creamy seed. 

“Don’t move, princess.” He drags your hips down to hilt him deep inside, teasing the entrance to your cervix as he came inside of you. Kitta laps up what globs roll down along his shaft, tongue flicking against your labia to taste you. You break the kiss, looking down over your shoulder with red cheeks.

“Should I…” You gasp for breath. Kitta comes up for air with a pleased grunt.

“No. That was perfect.” Kitta remarks, sliding your hips up offof Ivar. She swirls his cock in her mouth, drinking down the juices of your union before leaning up to clean you nearly tenderly with her tongue. Then, as if nothing happened, she looks to the door.

“I think I hear Uxi.” She says. You know he’s not crying. But… you can’t help feel a waft of air screaming for you to leave. You aren’t sure if it was because of your kiss or otherwise-- but you feign interest.

“O-Oh, then I should go.” You say, unmounting his lap and picking up your dresses. You quickly dress, moving to leave when your husband calls out to you.

“I’ll be yours tomorrow.” Ivar says, catching his breath. You nod-- and run back to where Hvitserk and Ragnhild were. They talk idly and by their wide eyes, you knew they were surprised to hear from you.

“I thought you weren’t going to be back.” Hvitserk says, his hand on his cheek now as you take back Uxi. Your precious boy was still asleep after all that time, which was probably shorter than you thought, despite Ivar’s seed coursing down your inner thighs from what was buried so deep.

“I thought they could… use some alone time.” You came up with an excuse. A poor one by Hvitserk’s deliberately slow nod.

“She kicked you out, didn’t she?” Hvitserk asks

“How would you know?” You quickly responds.

He brings his ale to his lips. “She always does.”

* * *

You asked Ivar not to come the next day. Maybe you said that you were feeling ill and feared that you would get him sick. It was a lie of course… a lie to cover your humiliation. You couldn’t get over the fact that Kitta… Kittta had done that. You trusted her and she sent you on her way. She used you and humiliated you while Ivar let her. You supposed in a way that you should have expected he wouldn’t say anything. Kitta seemed to be untouchable by your hands… even if you were the mother of his only child.

“M-My King, she isn’t well!” Ragnhild, sweet Ragnhild, always covering for you. You sigh as Ivar approached, grasping the frame of your doorway to push himself in-- despite Ragnhild pleading desperately with him to leave you be. He nearly raises his hand to shove her out of his way when you call out to your young thrall.

“It is alright, Ragnhild.” You smile when the two came to a pause.

“What is so wrong with you that I can’t come visit you?” The volume of Ivar’s voice rattles the walls, bursting your son in your arms into tears. You shush him, bouncing him for some time before you realize that it is fruitless. You then latch him onto your breast for comfort, resting on the bed silently. Uxi’s sapphire bright eyes stare up at you with the cutest of stupid smiles when Ivar shook you from your tranquility.

“You don’t look sick.” Ivar stops beside you. “Unless jealousy is an ailment.”

Your lids shut tensely. Don’t hit him, don’t hit him… you think. “You let her disrespect me.” Your voice quivers. Ivar scoffs, moving around you with his crutch.

“Me? You gave her permission.” Ivar states as if thinking that you assumed you were raped. No, it wasn’t the sex that was the issue. Despite the fact that to you— it was less of sex and more of Kitta putting you in place: not just sexually.

“She dominated me! Then you let her throw me out like I was nothing after she had her way with me.” You say with watery eyes, catching your voice when Uxi’s closing eyes snap up again. Ivar stops short of moving on, eyes caught with yours. He exhales a ragged breath and sits beside you.

“Then speak to me. How am I to know what you are thinking?” Ivar responds, reaching out to drag you close. You hold tightly onto Uxi as he drinks of his milk and falls into his milky haze.

“I am thinking that Kitta does not share. When was it that you last warmed my bed— and not for just sleeping?” You snap with your voice low, sliding off of him to set Uxi in the bassinet to the side of your bed.

“I...” Ivar drop back with a pinch of his brow. “Months?”

You give him a look as if that was true-- but something else was heavy on your mind.

“And Ivar, when she was watching!” You hiss out, finding it easier to hiss at him than anything. Your finger teases Uxi’s little button of a nose, drifting up to his thin honey like hair. Ivar otherwise says nothing to your words, knowing them to be true. You bring your hand to your forehead in stress and come back to sit upon the bed.

“You make me think that I should take Ragnhild and Uxi and go—“

You aren’t able to finish your words when Ivar lurches over you. His heavy body pins you to the bed. His palm cups your throat.

“You are not leaving me.” Ivar hisses. “You are mine.”

His hand sweeps down across the valley of your breasts to your stomach. There he stops, lips pressing several kisses against your shoulder. An apology for the brash way he took you down onto the bed.

“Since Kitta has kept me for so long—“ Ivar hums. “I’ll be yours for some time. Then we will share as we have been. Would you like that?”

You really would.


	7. Prologue VII: Who Was He?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ivar goes raiding, Reader must deal with her obligations. Uxi, yes-- but also her sisterwife. A strange new man arrives at the Midsummer's festival.

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/93c4ff5915cb0f8e881f30fb722a9d9c/tumblr_phu46fN9KF1v19l0n_500.jpg)

One day, something was different.

Time had passed. You knew something was off. Not with you but.. Kitta. She hadn’t gotten up yet; and while your relationship was strained as of late, you knew that you had to check on her. Ivar had gone raiding some time ago and while you waited for him to come home, you had your obligations. The main one of those was to keep Uxi clean, happy and fed. However, Kitta is your other obligation.

“Kitta?” You press the ruddy curtains apart. Little Uxi bubbles in beside you, trotting on his fat little feet with Ragnhild following close behind. There is nothing but silence. All of the Queen’s things are as they were. Her fluffy bed is neatly made and a luxurious dress drapes over the furs in a smooth, deep red. 

“Ma!” Uxi chirps, doddling in with bubbly giggles.

“Maybe she woke early, my lady.” Ragnhild says stomping after Uxi who seeks out her loom. Turning the corner of her bed, you think maybe she has gone out to oversee Ivar’s newest defenses before you trip onto the ground with a thud, a small groan bumping off of your lips. The soft, squishy firmness alerts you that it was a body-- Kitta’s limp body. You tumble off of her, crawling over her side.

“Kitta!” You shake her shoulder, looking her over. Her pale night dress ims oist with blood about her stomach, sure, but also lower. You yanked up her nightdress, finding the scent like a miasma of blood and infection between her legs. You don’t need to be told to know what had happened there. But her stomach?

“Ragnhild, call me a healer!”

* * *

Kitta woke up a while later despite her best efforts not to at all. Days had passed and while you didn’t know what to tell Ivar when he landed, he understood on that misty pier why his first wife wasn’t there. Another miscarriage had taken her over in grief and with Ivar not around? She had hurt herself.

“I wasn’t going to kill myself.” Kitta says one night after dinner. Sure, she didn’t. She just dipped the knife into her gut for fun. “I was just… angry.”

You sit beside her with the remnants of your griddle cooked fish in your lap. Ivar had been by her side relentlessly since he came home. Now, he is asleep while you care for her. “I understand.” You say. “I was similar… when I lost my virginity.”

Kitta turns her head away from the roof bracing beams. “Who was he again?”

You flush. It had been sometime since you thought of Ubbe. Yes, perhaps at night… when no one was around, you thought the sex fondly. You would drag your nightgown over your thighs for better access. You remembered how his fingers twisted, the taste of salt and blood on his lips from Uppsala’s live sacrifices and how he brought you to your knees without even being inside you.

Your cheeks are hot. “No… I couldn’t say that.” You leave your hands from your fish in order to drift up to your cheeks. 

“Tell me about it. Look at what I did. I need something to keep me entertained.” She says up to you before motioning down to her stomach. Technically-- you didn’t owe her shit. Not after she disrespected you, but you were weak to her. You look over the wound in her stomach. As much as you fought with her lately-- as much as you found yourself jealous how your husband would drop anything for her, she is charming. You want to make her emerald eyes glisten again.

“It… was a Ragnarsson.” You admit. Her eyes go from big-- to bigger.

“His brother?!” She squeals out. Your hands clasp over her mouth while looking back to Ivar. You don’t know what he would do if he knew. Lately, he had been... changing. In a way, you chalk up his aggression to the birth of your son. Even Hvitserk was on the receiving end of his rage. All so often, you would reassure him that Hvitserk was nothing to be so insecure about. Hvitserk was a friend. A sweet, kind friend. 

“Yes. Don’t tell Ivar-- he’ll be rash.” You hush her. She tries to press for who.

“If it isn’t Hvitserk, it might be Bjorn, Ubbe or Sigurd. Let’s hope it isn’t Sigurd.” Kitta narrows out the competition. Hvitserk is an awful lover. He would have tried to sneak in already if it was him. Besides, he seems to be little more than a brother to you. The empty look on your face when Sigurd is mentioned tells her that it couldn’t be him either.

“Ooh, so you caught his older brothers. Ivar was mine. Was the mystery brother any good?” She asks.

You thwack her with your with your rag from cleaning after your meal, pressing a bit of buttered bread into her mouth. “You’re prettier when you’re quiet.” You mumble.

“So wh...y di’n’t you marry ‘im?” She asks between crumbling bites. It all came rushing back.

_“You don’t want to marry me?” Your hands folded in your naked lap. Ubbe slid his trousers back over his ass. You spent much of the night and into the last morning you would be in Uppsala with Ubbe. Your cunt was stuffed full of his seed and yet-- he was leaving._

_“I’m not ready.” Ubbe says. He hover his shoulder with the bundle of braids shifting. He stretches his hand out to graze over your plump lips. “I would make you miserable. I’ve done enough damage.”_

_You weren’t sure whether that was good or bad. In one way, at least he wasn’t the type of man to trap you in marriage. But as you remembered, you took a tea of pennyroyal a few weeks later._

You wish you could banish those thoughts away.

* * *

Kitta healed nicely. It was none of your business what had happened between Ivar and she. They discussed it and that was the extent of what you knew. You had not whined to Ivar about the past month he spent with Kitta. While she healed the last few months, you spent time with your now year and a half year old. Uxi climbed whatever he might be able to find, tried to leap off of heights and snuggled the stuffed toys Ragnhild made him to death. So that day, when you hear the stomp of a crutch from behind you, you didn’t honestly expect to see Ivar in the doorway.

“Fa!” Uxi whips away from your skirts at lightning speed, pointing his index finger as he bolts towards his father. He stops short of him, pointing and inching back as Ivar moves forward.

“Uxi, come here Uxi.” Ivar calls, walking toward the table to ditch his crutch and maneuver onto the ground. It was easier for him when chasing his child. Uxi makes a huffing noise, chuffing laughs out but timidly keeping beside you.

“Go Uxi. Go with your fadir.” You pull your skirts away, from his little hands to urge him forward. He takes a few shy steps up to him, poking him in the cheek.

“When did he learn this?” Ivar asks, eyes drifting down to Uxi. He pokes again and runs off to hold your skirts. Instead of catering to his shyness, you fall onto the ground beside your husband. A few pokes later he lost interest, zigzagging through the room to bring Ivar back miscellaneous items. Very quickly the mound of random items begins to build into a small hoard.

“A few days ago.” You smile, stacking block and ball and on the top of the hoard. Then you hand the boy a piece of bread. “Give your father a kiss, Uxi.”

Uxi holds one of your glass bead necklaces in his other plump, tiny hand. He boredly tugs your necklace while you blow soft kisses to the little boy. Uxi moves forward so that you might place a kiss to his cheek.

“Good boy.” You worship. Ivar swipes up his son to hold him in his lap and buries his face into the side of his neck. It lasts only seconds before Uxi breaks his father’s grip and shoots off again. Ragnhild follows him, giving opportunity for Ivar to drag you into his lap. He presses kisses over the body of your neck. You hum appreciatively for each kiss, dropping your hands down to Ivar’s on your hips.

“I found something out.” Ivar drags his lips, the tickle of his moustache against your skin up toward your ear. “Kitta told me one of my brothers took your virginity.” Ivar whispers into your ear. “So who was he?”

Your heart palpitates. She TOLD him?! You should have expected as much but somehow-- you feel betrayed. Your whole body rips into shakes within his arms. The words-- his name, it’s caught on your tongue. Uxi comes back around, handing you his piece of bread then turns away and runs to play again. Ivar glimmers a half smile at the boy before it drops altogether. He teases his lips around the shell of your ear, turning his face in your hair.

“It doesn’t matter.” He hums. “I’ll just fill you up with another child instead.”

* * *

Since he found out that one of his brothers had claimed your virginity months ago, everything had changed. He kept Hvitserk within eyesight when you were in the room. Despite not asking again who had taken your virginity, you knew that he was punishing his brother for one of them having done it.

It was the midsummer’s festival and the celebrations were abound. You had woven wreaths, tossed corn doilies into the roaring flames and Ivar had blessed a ship under Baldur’s name. Your father and many other kings were there-- including one familiar one from your time in Uppsala prior to your marriage to Ivar. 

King Sverri. A king of icy lands and fine wolfish furs. 

Also the King that dragged you out of sorrow-- once upon a time. It feels so long ago now. He’s grown his muscles, lean as he is. You may have feasted the sight earlier-- curious to the bodies of men. It was only natural, you assure yourself. You would never cheat on your husband.

“Do you dance, my Lady Princess?” King Sverri staggers beside you on the beach, his dark hair curling down over his pale skin, catching on the stubble. He was a tall, willowy thing donned in a rich green tunic, belts carrying axes on either side of his hips.  
“I can’t say I have since we last met!” You laugh. 

“That’s been years, my Princess.” Sverri spins you around the raging beach fire towards an adorned maypole spinning in brilliant red and drab white and black. It is up in celebration of the Vanir for fertility both for Midgard and the humans residing upon its surface. For as fearsome as the king was, the feminine flower crown on his head from Kattegat’s young girls made him as happy as sunshine.

The king was of course not doing such dancing. He spun words with the other kings and his brother. Hvitserk recounts so called sensual occurrences between the Christian women and he-- noting that they may look shy and modest but were anything but. 

“Where is (Y/N)?” Ivar asks just as Kitta sat beside him on his sandy blanket. He takes Kitta’s hands up for a small kiss. He quickly realizes that the roll in her eyes is purely because he asks where you were. His eyes slip away from the burning embers to crowds of men and slaves. 

“Dancing.” Kitta says, wiggling a new ring on her fingertips for a kiss. He gives her another, mumbling his words on her ring.

“With Hvitserk?” He asks, though it sounds more like a statement.

Kitta shakes her head. “With the King Sverri.”

“What?” His voice drips down into a low snarl. Ivar’s demeanor shifts, dropping her fingers. 

“They’re actually kind of cute— Ivar!” Ivar drops to the beach, dragging himself through the sand. Kitta follows after him.

“She’s pregnant. It's harmless if Sverri fucks her. Better yet to give him incentive to keep his men and shieldmaidens with you.” Kitta chimes in. Ivar snarls up at his wife, jerking back as the shuffling of people around him kicked aggravatingly small grains of sand in his face. 

“Shut up! He’s not touching her.” Ivar drags himself until he caught sight of Sverri twisting you back in from a spin. You hit his chest a bit clumsily. One of his hands slip away from his upper chest toward his shoulder. Sverri’s calloused hands dip low on your back. His moppish black hair tickles your lips and you look away from him when he leaned in for a kiss. Sverri draws back in his defeat, letting his forehead rest upon your head. 

“A… ah. I think my husband might not… like this.” You hum. Sverri keeps quiet, eyes glazing you over.

“I wouldn’t either… if you were mine.”

“(Y/N)!” You press away from his chest. A harsh call of your name from below alerts you to Ivar. Immediately you know from the wildness in his eyes that you were in some sort of deep trouble. You break away completely from Sverri to run over to your husband, beginning to kneel in the sand.

“Iv… Ivar. That wasn’t-- I didn’t mean to.” You came up beside him. He reach out to tug you down. You tumble on the ground a little harshly, hands flying instinctually to your stomach. Ivar lurches over you, ignoring both Sverri and Kitta. Your hands hook around his neck as he bears down at you.

“Let us make something clear. I may share Kitta… But never you. You are the mother to MY children. Do you understand?” Ivar asks. You look up into his blown wide eyes. Ivar slips his slender hips between your legs. Was he going to make a display of you here? You wish you could melt away.

“Yes… my husband. Perfectly.” You mumble. As soon as his rant has began, it ebbs. You have neither the time nor the energy to fight his burning need for dominance over a foreign king. At the end of it all-- you were his. 

Every king would know. King Sweyn would know with his lavicious eyes that bore a little too long at your ass during ceremony. King Faksi-- who gave you in marriage would know. This king from a far distance would know. He’d know very well.

“We’re going to your rooms.” Ivar snarls, dragging himself through the sandy beach. As you lay there, Kitta slips behind you to pull you up. In a mixture of frustration, you look to Kitta.

“Why would you tell him about Ubbe and I?” You ask her, finding that her eyebrow cocks. Your back stiffens the moment the words hit the surface-- you just slipped.

“I said nothing about Ubbe, (Y/N). Or Sverri.” Kitta laughs. “I only told him a brother fucked you. But now I know which.”

“I trusted you not to tell him, Kitta. I took care of you!” You shove her back, finding Kitta was quick to fall dramatically. Despite her creating a scene, she wears an amused smile. Sverri jerks forward to grip your wrist when you were about to jump her.

“She isn’t worth your time, my Lady Princess.” He whispers in your ear with a warm, soothing puff. You drop your raised fist.

“(Y/N)!” Ivar calls you.

Sverri was right. She wasn’t.


	8. Prologue VIII: Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a disease falls upon Kattegat, the sisterwives quarrel. Stress isn't the best thing for a mother brewing a baby.

Bodies stack on a pyre. At first glance, it might have seemed like one or two wooden and straw stacks-- but there are more speckled with odd purplish bruising underneath pale skin. They were stacked together for burning, some with flower crowns and others with nothing but pendants for their trip to the gods. In the middle of a the mess, Ivar took up a torch with Kitta by his side. Naturally king and queen should be the ones to see these ones off. He shoves you back from the plagued bodies towards your line of thralls, Ragnhild absent.

“You should not be out here.” He tells you. “Don’t go see her. Go inside.”

To some extent, you walk away from Kitta whose hand is interwoven in little Uxi’s. He calls your name as Kitta holds him in place by her side, dipping down to hush him. Since this dark plague shaded Kattegat, you hadn’t been around for little Uxi much. Both because Ivar wanted you to keep yourself away in your room while brewing his newest heir... but also because there was someone special that needed you without Ivar’s knowledge--

You came into the Great Hall where Ivar keeps many of those diseased to care after. Better to quarantine the plague rather than let it run across the land, he meant to snuff it out-- with out without deaths.

“How is she doing?” You ask a healer. 

The older woman turns her head to a bed upon the ground with your own silvery furs. Below those furs-- a slight girl who has just come to the intended age of being a woman lays. She was your young thrall, unmoving under the furs. Ragnhild heard question everyday and as you come to her side to press a meager cloth against her forehead, her eyes are open. Wide… but not looking. She just seems to exist in this space of consciousness while you tend to her care. Even with the other thralls around, your heart pangs to see her wretching sticky coughs or boiling hot skin under your touch.

“Chilly–” She coughs to the side, sure to avoid you to the best of her abilities. Ragnhild is a good thrall. Even now, she seems more concerned with sickening you than herself. You reach out to stroke your fingers through Ragnhild’s knotty brown hair, loosening the ties of strand to strand. 

“You have a fever.” You mumble, glancing up to a thrall who brings you a wooden bowl water to clean your hands with.

“You shouldn’t be here, my Lady.” Ragnhild says. “For the baby.”

You’ve heard that before.

* * *

Ragnhild is getting better— by and by, but you had ran out luck with Kitta. If you’ve run our of time with Kitta, you know that Ivar is close behind. He had been… unpleased. He found lies in your words that you felt no fondness for whatever brother had taken your virginity. But perhaps, as you promised, it wasn’t Hvitserk. His other brothers were far away; Bjorn a King and Ubbe underneath him. The dinner table is silent. More so with Ivar catching the rumours spreading of your visits to Ragnhild while with his child. His mind is brewing.

“Can she not take care of her own son instead of the thrall?” Kitta finally snips, breaking the peace. She sits with her burgundy glass drinking cup between well cleaned fingers. 

Ragnhild aside— Kitta is nitpicking. You know she enjoys Uxi. She takes him to play in the beach or out to the marketplace almost every day. This was all a show to make you less comfortable and Ivar’s hand more prominent over you. At the moment, you can at least have a voice in the care of Ragnhild. You fear what might happen… if Kitta kept pushing. Ivar trusted her.

“I worry about her. It will not be long– she is getting better.” You say over a dinner of seared lamb and grain. Ivar seems tuned in enough despite not speaking, staring at Kitta through the corner of his clear blue eyes. As of late, they have a slight blue tinge-- one he explains to occur before he might break a bone. He drinks the ale of his cup, swirling the liquid about his mouth and waited for the increasingly typical outburst.

“What kind of mother are you? You should care less about the slave and more about your child. I have watched Uxi– but he misses his mother.” Kitta says . You miss your son too– but something in your heart screams at you to take care of your dear and only friend.

“I come to him every night and morning. Is it an issue that I care for my thrall?” You snaps.

“What if it is?” Kitta pops off. “I am not your thrall to be slaving over your child.”

“The Ivarsson you also asked me to supply because you could not?” You shoot back. Kitta jerks up in her chair, chucking her glass across the room beside you. Ivar’s hand shoots out to yank her back to sit in her plush chair. Hvitserk wipes the light fibers of his moustache over his lip with a cloth. The two of you have been at each other’s throats for some time now. There are no signs that it might… slow down any. He glances between the two of you before back down to his empty plate. Wondering, perhaps, if there would be plan for raiding. Kattegat is awkward– and it wasn’t just because of the plague traveling through the land.

“Enough (Y/N)!” Ivar shoots you a sharp look. Kitta reclines hearing Ivar, a witty smile at her lips yet again. She has him around her little fingers, unlike you. As far as he seems to be concerned, it was you who brought into her chaos. 

“Why do you always protect her?” You growl out. “You never do the same for me.”

Ivar’s eyes grow cold. “Kitta is right. You should be at home with Uxi instead of endangering our new son by exposing him to Ragnhild. I won’t allow you there.”

Sometimes— you feel like you are choking at Ivar’s hand with how tightly he controls you. It’s no different now. You stand up, moving around the table to where Ivar sits with Uxi on a bench. 

“Forgive me, my husband.” Your words cut sharp. “For I forgot that I am a womb to carry your children in and hands to care for them.” You grasp Uxi’s little hand and pick him up onto your hip before turning to leave. Ivar’s silver utensil is thrust into his plate. It isn’t like you to leave without a word, so you swivel about to face Kitta. Her lips curl up, eyebrows slightly perking and eyes glistening like two saucy gems.

“You make me miserable.” Then just like that– you disappear behind the curtains. Ivar calls your name but it proves fruitless when the curtains come to still. Hvitserk hands his plate to a thrall and excuses himself.

Ivar’s lips pull together with dinner spoiled. “You should have not talk to her like that, Kitta.” Ivar looks up from where Hvitserk disappears into the very same curtains. Ivar’s fingers begin to tingle with the urge to jump up from his seat. Kitta sneers in the direction you walked off in before quickly degenerating into a poisonous tangent.

“She thinks she’s better than me because she’s beautiful. If she can lay on her back for you and push out babies, she can take care of them.” Kitta snarls, nails clicking angrily on the table. It wasn’t that she minds watching sweet Uxi. He is the child she so longed for, but the hours were long and the payoff was slight when you didn’t so much as thank her.

“Kitta.” Ivar warns– as if to tell her not to speak about you in such away. His first wife is quick to cut him off from such support and instead, snaps at him.

“That was our agreement. You would only take a wife for breeding. Don’t Kitta me.”

* * *

“She’s strangling me alive, Hvitserk. I feel like I’m choking around their hands!” 

You put Uxi down for bed just a bit ago– and now, you pace side to side in your room with Hvitserk. Which was a bit odd considering Ivar would have removed him from your rooms by now. Perhaps he is busy with Kitta to not have come and ripped your Hvitserk out from under your feet just as he had ripped Ragnhild minutes ago. Your hands support your swollen stomach, huffing as you go.

“She has that effect.” Hvitserk says, sitting on the silvery furs of your bed. Your room dons a similar interior decoration. Against the hard hued woods, silvery furs remind you of your father. Ivar’s warpicks and even his shield sit above your bed. 

“I want to take care of my sons...” Your hand comes to your stomach, doubling over with cry that rings through the room. The noise spills out as well, catching Ivar’s attention as he fruitlessly argues with his first wife.

“(Y/N)?” Hvitserk pushes himself up off your bed, lazily approaching you.

“It hurts.” You reach out for Hvitserk. A reach that quickly becomes a fall. Hvitserk’s desperate voice became the last thing you remember between the sight of Ivar’s jarred face and the healer’s desperate one. The last thought before your mind goes blank is just how much you didn’t want to see Kitta’s cocky bob of her head.

You almost lost your son. 

“You should not have been there!” Ivar is punching something– the wooden planks of your chambers beside your bed. Over and over again until his knuckles pop with a wet crack, shattering his brittle bones in his rage. What could you tell him? You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong over with Ragnhild. You just wanted to help.

“Ivar…” You mumble, feeling weak. It was just a brief loss of consciousness, you think. Yet the healer is still in the room with a volva performing all sorts of old magic upon your womb. They promptly leave when Ivar explodes once again.

“It is your fault, what of the next time?” He bites at you unlike you’ve experienced with him before. So unlike the soft kisses Kitta got when she miscarried. “Will you lose my son– for a thrall?! I can buy you more thralls!”

“Ragnhild isn’t just a thrall!” You yell back, wincing when Ivar lurches forward into your face.

“Is she worth OUR son?!” Ivar’s voice cracks.

“Of course she isn’t!” You snap out, the tears dripping off your cheeks. It grants him a bizarre satisfaction that lasts for only seconds. He quickly realizes what he has done and looks away from your cheeks to the curtains covering the doorway. He says nothing as he drags himself out, leaving you to nothing but your remourse.

* * *

Ivar couldn’t look at you.

He tries to convince himself to approach your door, to apologize to you like a sensible husband would. Everytime he came to your door, he just felt like screaming. Screaming would make him feel better. He knew it was wrong for him to stay out of the room, but in this fragile state, he couldn’t convince himself to get over his misplaced anger. It would be worse to yell at you… again. He’s sure you haven’t forgotten his last fit of rage.

He is sitting besides the curtains like he had been every night. It had been weeks since you had been alone. Acknowledging you over meals wasn’t enough. Surely you missed him as you grew through the pregnancy all alone. At some point, the tails of Kitta’s skirt sweep by.

“Do not bother her.” Ivar grasps her ankle.

“Shut up and get in.” She pulls the curtain apart. You lay in bed, your body ever fattening with the progression of pregnancy. It is obvious that his son has grown continuously, despite the stress of the falling out. Ivar crawls in after his first wife, finding that Ragnhild is well enough to be back at her chores. She is beside you tending to the repair of clothing as you lay in bed. Kitta approaches with even steps.

“If you’re here to mock me, go away.” You mumble, swiping a wooden comb through your hair. It cascades around your body like his mother rumoured Freyja’s to be. You are sure that it brought pleasure to Kitta to see you so upset. Why would you want her here? In any case, Kitta slides onto her hip beside you. She leans over to work the knots out of your hair, smacking your hands when they rise up to stop her.

“No. You’ve learned your lesson.” Kitta says. “Is he moving again?”

“He is.” You say, unsure of what she means. Not to be around the sick? Sure. You’ve made a mistake doing that. The gods sent you a warning.

Kitta scans around your room. The white tumbling down the ceiling and warm furs with alternating carved design strewn about should have been peppy. Happy. It wasn’t. You weren’t smiling or cheerful against the greys and whites in your room despite your son still being very much alive.

“Ivar is here.” Kitta says, breaking the tension of the room wide open. The news makes you flinch– you didn’t know how to face him. He made it clear that tried to sacrifice your child for Ragnhild… who likely would have been well without you. You don’t respond, burrowing deeper into your sheets while Kitta pulls them away. The last time he was here– he decimated you.

“Talk to him.” She presses.

“What does he have to say?” You finally give in. You decide to sit up, glancing over to Ivar who is staring– blankly. It’s the exact reaction that you were dreading Ivar would give you. Because not only is he here, he still has that look of disappointment.

“Get out Kitta.” He says. The Queen stands and leaves followed by Ragnhild whose head is hung extra low as of late. You know she blames herself for your illness. Ivar drags himself over, thrusting his arms onto the bed. You wait for him to haul himself up before shifting to look at him. He says nothing and so you both lay in silence a while.

“I still don’t understand. Why would you risk it?” He asks the question you knew that would be coming.

“I didn’t think….” You try to explain, but Ivar is quick to cut you off.

“You almost sacrificed him for stubbornness. Did you think I wouldn’t have her cared for?” Ivar snaps out, harsher than intended.

“Are you really here for another round?!” You sob out. Any mother would feel guilty, but it was more than that. You put him in a dangerous situation without consideration for the pain Ivar had been in with Kitta’s many miscarriages.

“No.” He says. Ivar would lean his arm around your back to pull you close despite your desperate wiggles to escape. He takes a long, shuddering breath as he backtracks through his thoughts. His breath is low as he speaks.

“Understand that Kitta meant well when she warned you.” Ivar looks aside. “But it is my fault for not intervening earlier… to protect both of you.”

Maybe you should have listened to your sister wife earlier. If you had, you wouldn’t have fallen so sick. Ivar presses a kiss to your forehead. It isn’t an apology. Not even close… but with Ivar, you learned to take what you could get.

“Don’t abandon me like that again.” You whispers. “If it were Kitta… you would have been here.”

Part of him knew it was the truth. If Kitta had a miscarriage— he would have been here. It was easier when she had a miscarriage because he expected it every time. But when you almost lost his son… now, that was something else entirely.

“I should have been.” He says as you snuggle into the space of his neck, he considers himself forgiven with the return of his affection. You hide there for some time before he finally hears you speak again.

“What if he is deformed?” You ask. “For what I have done.

Ivar cocks his brow, opening his eyes to look at you. He motions to his legs in a smooth sweep of his arm.

“Aren’t I?”


	9. Chapter IX: Spoken Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitta and Reader's relationship comes to a head when Ivar suggests taking Kitta on a trip alone. She might be greedy, but she isn't stupid.

For all of Ivar worried that you may have injured your womb, the rest of your pregnancy progressed as easily as your first. Perhaps in a way, he was more aggressive about your care after this scare. You expected him to be. But if he was aggressive… it also meant that Kitta was more aggressive as well. Especially when the Queen was rejected from helping you through your labour.

“You don’t want Kitta here?” Ivar’s hand is at your back, rubbing you through another set of contractions. The pain that sears your legs apart was nothing like the anger that built up in your heart over the last few months sharing your life with Kitta. First, she humiliated you. Second, she spilled the secret of your first love. Now you were not even sure if Ivar knew who it was. 

“Why would I want her here? She has made a fool of me!” You push down on a contraction. 

“She was here last time.” Ivar says. Your heart is closed, knowing Kitta is with Uxi while Ragnhild stays with you. In a way, perhaps you were punishing her. She must have known so as well. That was why she insisted that Ivar could not let you do this. Sorrily for her, he was too weak to do anything with the wrath of Frigg threatening to overcome him.

“The gods know and see how she has changed.” You hiss, back curling upwards. The contractions came closer and closer-- and you knew this is the stage of true labour in which there are no true breaks. All you want is to be able to labour in peace on all fours without Ivar insisting on Kitta being there in the room. Ragnhild is between your legs with an older thrall, learning the fine art of being a midwife. Dropping the issue, Ivar grimaces and sits helpless to change anything. It was better to stay quiet than incite your rage when you were in labour. Any man knew that. 

At the end of it all, you gave birth to his second son, a healthy baby boy. He was a hungry thing, bonding to your breast quicker than Uxi had. By no time at all, you were in bed with your husband. Two years was a long time to be without a baby in the home. Or so Ivar thinks when he finally has his son on his tattooed chest, tiny hands on his body. He's never felt broader. The Great Hall is quiet again and with it, the peace of the moment. He looks over to you, clean from your warm bath that scrubbed away the pain of labour. 

"He does not look deformed." He lets his hand come to his son's back. By the gods-- the little boy looks like Uxi had during birth. "He's healthy." 

"Maybe I am descended from the bride of the Vanir." You snuggle your way closer to him, taking the one hand that is not on your shared child. Ivar affectionately runs his fingers over your knuckles like he so enjoys to do with Kitta.

"Maybe." He agrees.

* * *

Little Veifnr is a slight and handsome boy. By now Ivar had learned to shift days, giving you four while Kitta had only three with her husband. Though if you didn’t sleep because of Veifnr, he quickly went back on his word to her to bond with her son. Kitta didn’t understand. Wasn’t that Ragnhild’s use?

Of course things couldn’t stay so perfect for you. From the steps of the throne you watch the Yule log crinkle and pop while Uxi jumps beside it like an eager dog, listening to the oaths of men. Veifnr long since fell fast asleep in a bassinet beside you as you enjoyed the vigil to your ancestral goddess on Mothernight.

“You’re enjoying yourself, my wife?” You glance over to your husband as he leans over his armchair towards you. It has been bizarrely quiet. Kitta, who does not sit in her throne, almost a pleasure that night. You sit on furs slung across the steps by his chair, drinking of the horn he hands to you when you hair his following request.

“Good. Then as the gods have given us another son, I want to take Kitta to see the lights of colours that I’ve heard such things about.” Ivar proposes.

Of course you know what he means. He means the sky that lit up in brilliant greens, heavenly blues and nearly fragrant purples, painting the sky like wisps of the gods chariots. It was rumoured, or so you thought, that Freyja would ride her kittens in the lush green stripes. That was the streak your father always told you about and the one that you eagerly you wanted to see. To see if your mother Freyja really did ride the heavens. But it is Kitta’s moment to be spoiled.

“Ah… then you would like me to care for things?” You suggest.

Ivar brings his horn back from your fingers and presses it up to his cracked lips. “Yes, Princess. I’m sure you’ve done it for Faksi.”

“Of course.” You nod— of course you had. You had done it more than once as he raided frequently. The public of Kattegat seemed to enjoy you enough with the births of Ivar’s sons. It would be fine. You would just be at home like you always were.

“Hvitserk will stay behind to care for a portion of the army.” Ivar leans down, taking your chin in his palm. “So I better not hear that you’ve betrayed me when I come back.” He gives you a clear warning, but to you, it is a message. Ivar doesn’t trust you.

You pull your head free from his palm. “I’m not a loose whore to be sleeping with your brother.”

Kitta comes from the crowd, pushing past the clusters of drab woolen clothes until she finds you both speaking. Ivar drops the conversation quickly-- seeing his jewel coming forward. He reaches for the hand she extends for a kiss, falling into Ivar’s flirtatious tug closer. She drops into her chair almost as if she’s cocky of what she is doing. Your eyes fall away to Veifnr’s bassinet, acting as if you are rocking it.

“Are we going?” She’s almost gleaming in excitement-- and in response, Ivar seems to glow. His skin, cleansed before dinner, brightens.

“I told you I would take you.” For his efforts she gives him a kiss, sliding onto his lap with her slender toes in black laced flats nudging you just slightly to move a step or two lower. You slide closer to Veifnr instead; nudging his little cheeks with your fingers. He’s fast asleep.

“Thank you, (Y/N)!” She says. “I haven’t had him alone in years. It will be perfect for so many years!”

Maybe her words are genuine— but as a woman that never had her husband to herself, you snort. Your teeth knit into their grooves, disrupting an otherwise peaceful moment when you swipe back at Kitta.

”I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a man to myself.” You say.

Kitta’s joyful moment is cut short with her hand in his hair and lips against his. Her momentary smile against his lips quickly turns dark. She pulls away long enough to stare at you– because you’ve just disrupted something beautiful.

But you don’t honestly give a fuck. They would go and have fun, bathe naked together in the rumoured hot springs or lay under the glittering stars at night while you stay nothing more than a mother with Ragnhild. Ivar turns his gaze to you slowly, fiddling with the strings of Kitta’s dress. Here it went again.

“What, are you jealous that you can’t whine your way out of this one?” Kitta snips back, beginning to rise. Ivar pulls her back onto him by her slender hips. Kitta huffs as Ivar combs his hand through her flaxen hair and worships her lips in kisses to keep her tranquil.

“Not at all.” You say and look between to the king and his queen. “I know he feels bad that you are soo alone. So go.”

Dully you raise your hand as if to metaphorically shake her off. Yes, she watches Uxi. In the day she could pretend like the little boy was hers. She would be dragged to see this, that and the other by him. She would feed him foods familiar to her and sing him songs. But at the end of the day? He came to you to sleep because he was your son.

“I think it is that the second wife is jealous of how he spoils me. You get shiny gifts to be shown off as his trophy wife– but I get him to my own to see wonderful things that you will never.” Kitta nudges the silken ties of your back with her foot. Ivar throws his head back, rolling on the axis of his neck until he looks down at you.

“I will take you next time, wherever my princess wants.” Ivar speaks as if you should ignore anything his bitter queen was saying. Before you could really even smile at him, Kitta stands off his lap and ambles around you. She bends in front of you and reaches out to cup your chin.

“Oh, he will… after he takes his Queen. Because his second wife will always be second best.” Those words are the last words you could take and strictly on instinct, you slam your head forward into hers, tumbling her down the steps of the throne room. The room drops its liveliness. The loud cackles die down into nothing more than strangled gasps to the tune of the crackling yule log. Shooting out from the silence though, a dull crack. It was your fist meeting the side of Kitta’s face, yanking your skirts up to straddle her in place. Her legs thrash underneath you and yet-- even the call of ma! ma! Does not shake you.

“(Y/N).” Someone calls out.

You hear your husband falling off of his throne, dragging himself down the steps until he climbs over you like a tree, yanking you back. You knew he was going to so you wound your palms tight around Kitta’s sputtering airways. A hiss tears through your lips as Ivar pulls you by the waist and chest.

“She’s choking her.” Hvitserk comes to Kitta’s side, unpeeling your fingers to the best of his ability. To no avail, Hvitserk uses the assistance of a sharp knife that would slice you just enough to shake you. The shock is enough for Ivar to yank you to the side off of his first wife. As Kitta flings herself into the opposite direction, Uxi breaks from the hold on one of the thralls that watches him to doddle up to his other mother. 

“You’re insane!” She coughs and coughs. But you didn’t give a shit anymore, pushing off Ivar’s firm arms.

“What the hell was that?” He ask. You stand, staggering until you gain your balance. Then as you look at Kitta, your eyes narrow. Your breath is uneasy and sharp, rubbing away the blood from one sole punch that hit your lip in the flail.

“May Frigg smite you Kitta… for, for how you treat the woman you claimed to bring in with good heart. I pray that Loki will bring you ill repute and Skadi will give me my revenge, you… you snake!” You spit, the words becoming more venomous than the last. You feel your husband’s eyes wandering up to you in what might have been wonder or horror. Whichever one it was, you aren’t sure, but, you know that the hate you feel right raging in your stomach.

You look up to Ivar and scan him, your tongue against your raw lip. “Look at the woman you’ve made me.” You exhale, shifting around the bassinet as Kitta turns herself to Ivar. 

“You aren’t going to let her do that to me!” She yells at Ivar. “Pick one of us! It’s her or I!”

You glance to Ivar as if to ask someone to help– but in his place, Hvitserk jogs forth to help you lift the bassinet. You both lift it high while Ivar turns his eyes away from you, thinking slowly of the words you spoke moments ago. 

“(Y/N).” He answers, looking back to Kitta. 

“You’re choosing HER!?” His Kitta bellows. Ivar twists on his forearms to drag himself out of the Great Hall.

“If you make me choose!”

* * *

“It is funny.” Hvitserk laughs, arm slung over your shoulder as you waved in bed. “She thought she would put you in your place and you put her in hers!”

You quickly escaped the Great Hall hours ago. Ivar and Kitta's screaming back and forth eventually died off. Now Hvitserk finds it all too funny that you had not only cracked Kitta’s head with yours but cursed her with something so dark and heavy. Not that he thought the gods would really do anything about Kitta! While usually you might be straight laced and tense– the booze down your throat for the last few hours left you giggly. Your head rests on his shoulder.

“Only a little.” You slur.

“Only a little, she says.” Hvitserk laughs.

The days that had pass are like this. While Ivar took Kitta out to see those beautiful lights, Hvitserk fills you with booze and you look would both look at the heavens. It’s a good distraction when Hvitserk sleeps in your bed and wakes up to little Uxi climbing over his body. For all that the young boy has seen, he is resilient. It shames you, in some way, to know that Uxi saw you beating his other mother. At this age, you hope he won't remember. Another one of those drunken nights passed when you wake to shouts throughout the Great Hall. There was a great deal of stomping and yelling by Ivar's warriors. You recognize the favourite of his men responding to Ivar's calls. He must have been home from Kitta's wonderful trip. Hvitserk rolls to sit up in the bed, shirt out of sight.

“What are they doing?” Hvitserk pushes his loose hair from his eyes. You consider what might be going on when you heard his booming voice rippling in through the other room– waking both babies at once. You stumble through the darkness looking for a shawl to pull over your naked shoulders, knocking your foot against carved wood.

“(Y/N)!” The King calls again.

You take Veifnr to Ragnhild as Hvitserk lifts Uxi up onto his slender hips. Then as you step out of your chambers, you realize something. It was Kitta’s cool body over a stretcher, contorting painfully as she stares– but does not speak. It is a better look for her.

“What is it?” You come close. Ivar’s hands sweeps over Kitta’s pale cheek.

“You cursed her.” He says. And as you remember it– you did.


	10. Prologue X: Curse

With Kitta out of commission, Ivar seemed to have a lot of questions as of late. A lot of very good, prudent questions. He asked you why you were spending so much time with Hvitserk. Why Hvitserk had to be in your rooms late at night even if Ragnhild was there to see– or in the dewy and cold mornings, why was he shirtless? Often spending the nights caring for Kitta, he knew what this was.

It was a game.

“Does he really think we’re fucking?” Hvitserk reclines onto your bed. One of his muscular arms slips underneath your shoulders. You snuggle into your friend’s arm while Hvitserk draws triangles in the shape of Valknut along the outside of your arm. A tickling reminder of your father’s drawn flags every time his boat came over the steady horizon.

“Like rabbits.” You answer. The only question you had was… if he thought that, why hadn’t he come barging in to explode at Hvitserk? Maybe he was scared for his little Kitta. She was in a bizarre state, between this world and the next. While caring for her with the thralls you learned she was cognizant of what was going on and yet, she could not do anything for herself. It was as if someone pricked her with a svefnthorn, if only she was asleep.

“Do you want to fuc-” Hvitserk’s words fall dead on his lips. You look up to his lips, then away only to find Ivar standing at the foot of your marital bed bed. His hand is tense on the axe of his belt, a grip tighter than iron on the crutch supporting him. Ivar slides his axe out of his belt and into his hand. He bounces it, spinning and twirling, with his eyes intent on his brother like a hunter after its cornered prey.

“Get out of my bed.” Ivar flicks his thumb towards the door. Hvitserk doesn’t need another warning. He slips out from behind the sheets with trousers still in place. No proof that he was naked in bed with you. Hvitserk sweeps up his overtunic from the floor and sets out for another area of this vast hall. The twirling of Ivar’s axe stops as his eyes prowl after his brother, watching as he retreats from the room.

Then he looks at you.

“You promised you wouldn’t fuck him.” Ivar whispers deftly low. You recall the promise– the one you made prior to them leaving for the glittering lights in the sky. Ivar drags himself onto the bed.

“What are you talking about, husband?” You ask as Ivar drags himself across the bed. He boxes you in underneath his body, dropping onto his forearms to keep you properly contained. His hips grind against yours, the firmness of his growing arousal more evident with every movement against you. You assume it to be out of his usual rage-- to have had Hvitserk shoving himself in on something he deemed his.

“Don’t lie to me! How many times have I caught him in here?” He’s raving now, his tongue sputtering spittle so quickly that you could barely keep up. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Does he fuck you better? Or do you just like small dicks?”

It’s the gratification you want and need. Kitta may have gotten to see the beautiful colours of the sky (or maybe she hadn’t) and you? You had your husband all to yourself while she got better. What better use of it than to make Ivar see red? You gasp when one of his hands drops down underneath your dress, prying your thighs apart. He prods your entrance with dry fingers as if looking for evidence of his brother’s love.

There is nothing but your warm slick, aching at the sound of his jealous rage.

“No. But he does look like he could eat pussy better than you, don’t you think?” You ask.

“You fucking bitch.” Ivar smacks your ass with a hard, rippling slap. The hot sting causes you to cry out. Then he pulls your nightgown up over your breasts, begrudgingly setting kisses down your sternum, over the dip in your belly to your pubic mound. Each kiss could have been affectionate, slow and caring. But it’s tainted by his knowledge that Hvitserk could have been there. He gathers himself between your legs– and you know.

This was probably a mistake.

“You want to be eaten out? Fine.” Ivar growls, pressing his mouth against your inner thighs. Two gentle kisses and a mean bite that more than stings leads Ivar’s mouth over your cunt. He sucks your lips then slides his slick tongue between your lips. You pull your dress the rest of the way off as Ivar’s mouth shifts, gliding his tongue along one of your labia before the other. You rest your hands atop of his braids, petting him with a sigh.

“I told you.” You say just to jar him.

Ivar’s hands slam over your hips, bruising tugs of your body yanking you back towards him. Your hands cement into the furs while gives you a broad lick up to your clit, encircling it in a curl of his tongue. His tongue caresses just above the nub in a mean tease, gaining your whines until his tongue flickers down towards your clitoris. Your hips would stutter, grinding up against his face when he buries his face into your cunt, nudging you with his nose. You try your best to push him in– and he responds with a dangerous growl that reverberates against your slick cunt.

“Ivar.” You gasp. One of his hands shifts, rubbing against your lips in almost a tease. His fingers slip along the outside of your pussy, coating in your excitement and as the anticipation built– you cry out. “Please!”

He makes you wait, wrapping his lips around your clit to suck you, flicking his tongue just so occasionally that it has you whining for a little more– which he grants when his fingers slide into your cunt. His fingertips curl, stroking the upper wall and listening as you make beautiful cries for him. His slow thrusts quicken with every shake and thrust of your hips against his face for more and more, filling you now with his fingers completely. Your breathing hardens, choking out spasms of cries spilling forth and you run rigid, gasping as your orgasm overcame you. He knew as much, keeping his attention completely on your body as you ride out your orgasm over his face. As much as you try to buck him off, he makes you stay on his face throughout the orgasm. Calming licks across your labia calm you down while his hands shift up the round of your hips, then back down.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

* * *

Your cunt is aching hot by all of the attention Ivar was giving you. It was just too much. Anytime Hvitserk so much as looked in your direction, you knew it was going to be trouble. Perhaps– you wanted to tell him that you hadn’t fucked around on him. You were a good wife! But… between Kitta’s illness and his obsessive qualities, you start to like offering your ass up to him.

Even if you looked ridiculous walking. Hvitserk laughs as you waddle over, taking his hand to sit besides him on the bench of a table. Hvitserk looks you over once before bursting into a deep laughter. Your neck is battered red and purple by the love he gave you.

“He fuck you?” Hvitserk chides, flipping a thin slice of chicken in his fingers. As he ate it up, you lean into him, eyes blown wide.

“Did he fuck me?” You repeat. “Fuck you, Hvitserk. He hasn’t let me off his dick. I can’t walk.”

Hvitserk grins cheekily, loving the effect he has on your relationship with his brother. Its a tease to know that his younger brother honestly thought you were fucking him. Though he might not have complained about doing so– he hadn’t. Your name off of Ivar’s lips disrupts any peace you could have had.

“Ahhh. Why?” You groan, sliding out and stepping up to the stairs to your husband. The furs are soft under your toes, tipped with milky and dirt brown fibers.

“Yes?” You ask.

“Sit with me.” Ivar motions you to sit. You look between Kitta’s seat made for a queen… etched with beautiful hands. Your own seat was nothing of the sort… in fact, you warmed the stairs. The thought crosses you but if Kitta died, would you have hers? You curse yourself for thinking like that. Then you go to sit beside him when he lurches out to pull you in his lap.

“Ooh! Ivar what are you doing!?” You protest, finding that Ivar’s arms pull you in tight.

“On me.” He whispers against your neck. Lightly, his hips glide up against yours in what you deem is all a show. You glance over to find Hvitserk grinning dumbly at you, sliding his arm over little Uxi’s shoulders. You returned that dumb smile with one of your own. There was no doubt about it: he was sooo jealous.

When Ivar finally finished with you that night, you weren’t sure how you hadn’t fallen to sleep immediately. But there is something on your mind– just as Ivar had something on his mind too. You can tell easily by the knit of his jaw and eyebrows, that dumb little face seemingly in awe.

“What is wrong, husband?” You shift over to Ivar’s chest.

“I am thinking of killing Kitta.” Ivar glances over to you.

You know she isn’t getting better. It has been weeks since they have come home, if not months. Her state continues to worsen from acknowledging people that come in with her eyes to simply staring at the ceiling. This is no life for a Queen. But… no.

“You can’t kill her!” You lurch over his chest, straddling him.The coolness of his seed smearing against his weak legs.

“You can’t tell me what to do with my wife. She is suffering.” Ivar sighs, glancing back to you. It’s almost a relief that you draw complaints, reminding him that no, you see reason to keep fighting for her as well. But why? For all of Kitta’s hateful words, rude touches and spite, you fight for her life.

“I… let me bless her with a volva.” You suggest. “If the gods do not heal her, you may kill her.”

“Why do you care so much?” Ivar asks. “Should you not be glad to have me to yourself?”

He is reminded of your harsh words months ago– you hated the woman he made you. Now, Kattegat buzzed with news of the hateful woman who would cause the death of her rival? Or did you mean Kitta’s bitterness and anger that consumed you from that one cheerful, sweet girl you were.

“Because… it is my fault.” You say. “I cursed her and the gods listened to my cries. I am not a woman to kill another out of jealousy or spite.”

Ivar lay his head back. So you weren’t.

* * *

You're not that girl-- you're not a murderer. You don’t want to be around Kitta after you beat her face in. But…You had the thralls carry her body out by the fire that full moon night, glittering above your eyes as you turn to her. Your face painted with dark kohl and dripping dots down to your powdery white jawline. Ivar sits with the hood to his cowl over your head as the volva stands in line with you. A sacrifice had occurred– and you lower your face after the volva sprinkled bits of blood onto your face. Standing beside you, Hvitserk's hands lay limply over the pommel of his sword.

“Are you sure about this?” Hvitserk asks you. You slide by Kitta, combing away her pallid blonde hair from her eyes The volva turns to receive her staff as you mash together a variety of herb and rock in a pestle– your work and forgiveness manifesting over her. You have to forgive her for this to work. Such was your bitterness that you found even that difficult.

“I’m not the woman he’s made me.” You whisper to him. “I couldn’t kill her this way.”

As the volva kneels beside you, you offer out your hand willingly to her. She glances over your arm, pinpointing the right area to draw blood for the offering toward the gods.

“Princess (Y/N), do you give your blood willingly to this woman– your sister wife, who has wronged you in the eyes of Frigg?” She asks.

“I do.” You say, wincing as the blade slices through your arm.

“And in the eye of Skadi, whose wrath you elicited over your sister wife?” She asks. You hope with all you could that it would work but the wish for ill repute when she asked of Loki and Skadi? It felt like a stain over your heart. You try your best to answer yes.

“And of Freyja, whose seidr we use to heal this woman?” She asks.

“As a daughter of Freyja, I beg.” You answer, another slice leaving blood dripping down your arm to your elbow.

Forgiveness. The mash of blood and herb, magic and hope spill over Kitta’s lips. You only hope that it would work.

* * *

Two years had passed.

You lead Kitta with hands on hers, the scars seeming fresh as the day they were drawn on your forearms while you leading her to through the marketplace. She was slow: shamefully slow really.

“Can we go back to the hall? My body… it hurts.” Kitta asks. You give a grunt in acknowledgement as you take her back to the hall– where no surprise, Ivar leans up in his seat when Kitta came in. The two years proved difficult. Your husband spent much of his time with Kitta, who was not without her pain.

“Thank you… (Y/N).” She says as you walk her up to her throne, kneeling with a fruit against her lips. Even all this time later, its bizarre enough for Ivar to see you both interacting like this. He hadn’t seen it since the beginning of the relationship. His wives have gone from teeth against teeth to this– quiet. Kitta lead her hands up to the fruit, palming it for the right grip to hold. You force your hand over hers to help her. 

“I cannot do anything anymore.” Kitta complains. “I need your help for everything– the gods are laughing at me.”

“It is better than dead. We can go to Uppsala and make a blot for your health. The boys would be happy.” You interrupt.

“You should have left me for dead. I know you do not want to care for me.” She says. Of course you didn’t want this position. But… if you let her die, you would be giving in to the woman that you didn’t want to be. Ivar reflects on that same notion, watching as you feed Kitta of a plate and recline her feet onto a stool. You say nothing. Then just like that, you are off looking for a doddling toddler and a small child.

“Why did you have her save me?” Kitta drops her head back against her throne.

Ivar’s hands curl against the arms of his chair. “I didn’t.” He says. “She wanted to ‘try’ to bless you.”

“After she tried to kill me.” Kitta says. The words aren’t laced with her usual blind rage or raving disrepair. Moreover they have the bored lull of a boat, on water. The words only seem to bob in confusion. Why would you save her if she tried to humiliate you? In front of Ivar? In front of the public?

Ivar’s eyes slide over toward Kitta. “What is it Kitta? You have been quiet.”

Kitta gazes out toward the empty doorway leading out of the Great Hall. Little Veifnr doddles by, squealing when you snap him up and toss him just slightly. Hvitserk sweeps in to take Veifnr from you. As you both move away from the doorway, she can hear your argument with Hvitserk. 

_How could you toss him?  
What if he fell?   
He was not going to fall Hvitserk.  
But you don’t know that. _

Kitta glints a smile, raising her hands that felt heavy as the head of an axe to rub her sore smile. Little Uxi breaks apart from you after a few moments of excitement, barreling up the stairs and climbing his second mother like a tree. Ivar barks at Uxi, but the small boy only sits on Kitta like a proper child.

“I don’t want our children to see us fight like this.” Kitta’s hand drops heavily onto the arm of her chair, the other lazily holding him in place. “She’s proven herself dangerous.”

Were all those words– a test? The way you snapped at her that night even before giving birth, calling you a bad mother and second best? You had not only beat her, but cursed her into crippling sickness and by that, one might have said you tried to kill her.

“I need you more days, Ivar.” Kitta sounds resolute. “Four or five.”

“My sons need me more than you.” Ivar turns his eyes over to her then to his son on her lap. Kitta raises a weak hand to stroke over his hair, reddish brown like Ivar’s mother’s own. Bitter– he sounded bitter about the whole thing.

“I don’t want to make our family miserable out of jealousy. I will if you make me.” She spits out. The constant pull of Ivar’s love that leaves him into your arms most of the days you were pregnant, the way she saw his gloved hands caress your stomach and burn kisses against the taut, round skin… it was agonizing. Ivar loved you. Likely more than she– and the way she saw it, she could lose him. She only has the benefit of Ivar not rushing to defend you when you fought with her… perhaps, perhaps she could manipulate it.

A sigh. “I will give you precedence.”


	11. Prologue XI: Only a Womb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faksi comes to Kattegat for Yule, sparking a fight between Ivar and Reader. There are some words that should probably be left unsaid.

Faksi noticed something different when he came for Yule.

“He has Queen Aslaug’s hair!” Faksi drags Uxi into his arms, pushing him into the air to get a better look at him. Uxi’s hair had been shaved much around his head, with only the top fluffing out around his jawline. You smile to your father and lament how your sweet little Uxi was growing into a little man, year by year.

“That is what the townswomen say.” You smile, braiding back Veifnr’s dark hair along the sides of his head. The small dutch braids were his favourite, preferring more hair than Uxi. He could hardly stay still, but you would make him.

“And little Veifnr!” Faksi’s head drops to look into his grandson’s eyes, searching.

“What is it, Daddie?” You ask.

“He is going to be a tricky one.” He wonders of it when you release Veifnr, and like a hound, he darts off. You are left with an empty lap, hands folding one over the other as your eyes waver a glance up to where your husband and sister wife are sitting.

King Ivar and Queen Kitta. 

You aren’t sure what you have done to enrage your husband-- but he isn’t looking to you. He hasn’t for some time now. A vast difference from before when he would fuck you daily. Perhaps, though, that was of happenstance. His Kitta was unable to fuck him without rightful consent. His deep, sapphire hues glance over at Kitta’s as she whispers something in your husband’s ear. It causes his fingers to clench the arm of his throne.

“Why are you not sitting with them?” Faksi stands from the wooden bench, causing a rift in the balance from his hulking size. Hvitserk falls back and steadies himself by his forearm as he speaks to Ragnhild of silly things. Ragnhild is a quiet girl but you’ve notice the delight she took in others noticing her. Especially a boy-- even if he was much older.

“Oh… it is her day with him.” You force a flat lipped smile.

Faksi pets his beard. “Has it not been ‘her day’ all week that I’ve been here?”

Five days. You had forgotten how long it had been since Ivar warmed your bed-- and it brings embarrassment up to your cheeks. Since Ivar had rushed off Hvitserk from paying you attention at night, he had been at peace. Nothing would disturb the king, nothing to worry about. Your heart does flips in searching for an excuse.

“I… I’m not welcome any longer to sit with them, father. I did something awful.” You explain, your eyes are welling hot with tears. Worse so knowing that everyone could see you starting to lose the stability in your voice. Faksi glances off to Ivar with sharp, icy pale eyes. Ivar pays them no mind. In fact, he finds great pleasure in ignoring them. You reach out to take his large hand in yours as his hand comes atop of his sword.

“It could not have been so bad.” Faksi says.

“It is. It is.” You’re sobbing now, causing your large father to fall onto one knee in front of you. “Kitta would embarrass and humiliate me. So I cursed her under Frigg and Freyja, Loki and Skadi. And they’ve cursed her in turn.”

It becomes abundantly clear to him why Kitta walks with a limp. The gods received the offerings at Uppsala. Now, she can do most things for herself-- but her body seems pained. Like Ivar and his own ailment, Kitta has learned to do well with her own. You are sure she resents you in the cold winters when her bones gain a burning chill down her long bones but she has learned. She hasn’t used her tongue against you nearly as disastrously as she used to. Even if she has her moments.

“Now he hates me.” You cry out. In such a revelation, it doesn’t occur to your father how you sob against his chest like you were a child all over again. It didn’t occur to him the shakes or weakness in your voice of the words that escape your throat. No, none of that. 

The only thing he is cognizant of is the rage in his ale filled stomach that Ivar would dare treat his one and only daughter like this. That he would torture you for something he knew Kitta must have deserved. You were no perfect woman. Surely you spoke back in defense of yourself. That was never his own concern. The only concern he has… is his precious little girl. He would move mind and mountain for you.

“IVAR!” Your father bellows, tucking you against his chest. A hush still overcame the Great Hall as Faksi pops up, thrusting his arm across another table to fling food and drink both across the hall. It flips and casts both male and female alike off. Finally Ivar’s head snaps away from Kitta’s sweet words in his ear, turning to gaze at Faksi as you struggle out of his grip and onto the floor.

“No fadir no, please!” You press at your father’s barrel chest when he unsheathes his sword of glimmering pearl and mellow amber. Ivar shifts in his throne on one arm and you can practically feel his glare against your head. Restrain your father-- he seems to say.

“What have I done now?” He brings his hand up towards his chin as Faksi advances. A few of Ivar’s men cluster about him but Ivar would wave them off as if it was of no concern. You should be so concerned of your father’s impending death.

“You’ve disrespected MY daughter! You WILL divorce her and I will take her home!” Faksi hisses, advancing forward. The flats of your shoes aren’t handling it well, skidding you across the wooden floor as you pull onto his rune covered leather belt.

“You’re not taking her anywhere.” Ivar growls out. “Because I won’t release her from her vows to me.” You desperately hold your father back, sobbing outright with a shake of your head. It only serves to enrage him farther-- and you realize your heels have hit the back of the stairs. You rush up as your father approaches, standing as a barrier in between Ivar and Faksi with arms raised into the air. Faksi pushes forward, causing you to steady yourself with a hand behind on Ivar’s knee and the other against your father’s chest.

“Please! Please Daddie I love him!” You say, causing a quiet to shush over Faksi. Ivar’s hand snakes around your waist, pulling you only his lap more forcefully.

“See Faksi? She does not want to leave me. I’ve forgiven her for sleeping with my brother and cursing my Kitta. Tell your father you want to stay with your husband.” Ivar‘s voice drops low as if it were a warning, his eyes turning from your luxurious pearl earrings up to Faksi’s sharpening eyes. He didn’t believe his girl would be unfaithful. Not unless Ivar gave you reason to be. From the look of it, you had plenty of reason.

“Of.. of course I want to stay with you.” You say on shaking breath.

“That’s right, you do.” Ivar says.

“But… I’ve never slept with Hvitserk.” You add just as quickly, causing Ivar to curl from behind you to look into your eyes— it’s an insult. After the days he caught you in bed against Hvitserk’s chest cuddling like he were Ivar? There was no way you hadn’t slept with Hvitserk. Did you think he was stupid? Faksi sheaths his sword as Ivar turns you in his lap.

“Are you insulting me now?” Ivar whispers in your ear. His hands slide around your hips to your ass as you challenge him.

“I don’t sleep around just to do it, Ivar.” You say.

“Because I won’t let you.” Ivar snaps. “I don’t believe you.”

The moments he found you in bed with Hvitserk? Proof enough.

“Why can’t you believe me?” You shriek. You insult him further by sliding off of his lap unexcused. Your hands rub your wet eyes to shove the tears away.

“I don’t know why I love you. You humiliate me.” You murmur, holding your tongue against him. Cursing him would be something you would definitely regret, and instead, you rush down past your father. He grasps your elbow with lips slightly apart, fighting for the right words to say. A man of many words, he should have had some! Then, he looks miserable but it is not for himself. It is for you. You know he wants to fix it all. Yet, he couldn’t. You wipe away tears and pull away abruptly.

“Good night Daddie.”

* * *

You knew Ivar would be coming for you that night. It was a routine the last year. You would fight— he would warm your bed. It would be the beginning of your three days with him. You lay against your winter furs, quivering in your discomfort. Ragnhild sits beside you, rubbing your back in small circles that round out into large ones around the knots grouped around your shoulder blades.

“My lady… perhaps it wasn’t the best choice to trick our King.” Ragnhild suggests. You knew she meant he resents you for your alleged infidelity. Even though Kitta and he always slept around while you were his beautiful bird in a cage.

“He lets Kitta do… do as she pleases!” You sob. “I just wanted him to care.”

Ragnhild scrunches her button nose. “But he loves you.”

“He doesn’t love me! He loves Kitta.” You whimper against the furs.

“Of course he loves you. He made his family with you. That is why he won’t share you, my lady. Kitta is replaceable. I know you are irreplaceable to him.” Ragnhild consoles, sliding beside you on her stomach to get a better look at you. Your eyes strain with puffy bags from your tears, a mess of your hair hiding much of you from view. You sit up from the furs, finding that your alleged husband is wordlessly eavesdropping in the doorway, eyes narrow as he listened in.

“Ivar.” You reach back to shake Ragnhild. She slides up, fixing her nightgown as she rushes out to her bed in the other room. You wish you could run after her. It was more awkward to be in this room than out there.

“You lied to me.” Ivar whispers, shoving closer. “What did you think you would get from me?”

Attention. Love. Affection. You could have said a bounty of things— but say nothing instead. You sat as Ivar moves closer and closer, his crutch stopping short of the bed. He sees those emotions spilling over your face in that of longing. He scoffs, looking away from you again. Then he glares upwards, turning his head in a curl back to you.

“It’s unreal. I give you everything and you still want more and more from me!” Ivar snarls. He realizes now your intent on lying to him. Like Kitta, you always want more. More and more, he feels as if he is going to go poor on love that his wives want him to shell out.

“What do you expect me to do? Be happy that my husband is taking another woman out before me?” You bite back at him.

“It is what I expect. You knew you would share me and here you are making me think my favourite wife has laid with another of my brothers!” He exclaims and the admission should have been sweet. It should have been all the good things you ever wanted.

Liar. He was lying-- you weren’t his favourite! You never were.

”I have never been your favourite. It is why you let Kitta play and not me.”

It throws him over his boiling point. As if you could be with someone else. He kept you to himself because he wanted to, because he needed to. Did he have to justify his reasons for keeping you to himself?! Kitta could not stay pregnant and as of late, the gods had closed her womb completely. At least there were no more miscarriages to speak of.

“You are the mother of my children! Why would I want other pricks poking around your womb?!” Ivar roars, his knuckles bursting open with a wet crack as he punches the headboard of your bed. You flinch back, then back forward, shoving him back, beating his chest as if to push him off his crutch. He falters a few seconds, steadying himself on his crutch out of shock that you would actually hit him.

“Because I am more than a womb! Look at ME!” You shriek at him, reaching out for him when he moves back. Which did you want? For him to be jealous or not?! Because if so, you weren’t making a very good appeal to keep him interested. How could he go back and forth with you-- when he was going back and forth with Kitta? His head feels full and achy, agitating him further and further. He finally erupts, saying something he knows he doesn’t mean, but can’t take back.

“The ONLY reason I took you as my wife was to have a womb to give me children, not open your lips and spill lies of me to my allies. Keep your legs shut, take care of my sons and look pretty-- that is all I need of you!” Ivar snarls out. You stare in something of shock, as if you didn’t believe he’d say it, even if you speculated it. You jerk back into the bed, dragging your furs over your shoulders.

“(Y/N)...”

As his temper simmers down, he realizes his words. He reaches out to pull the furs, but you shimmy them higher on your shoulders. Ivar makes out your distinct sobs spilling out from the covers.

“Leave me alone!” You say-- and so he does.


	12. Prologue XII: A Daughter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ivar's outburst, Reader is resolute. Sverri is back on foreign shores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be "Sverri's First Sight" which is all about how King Sverri met Reader.

You were very much wrong.

It was becoming abundantly clear what you were as he never attempted to apologize. When he went for his three days— he spent them with the boys. It was fine. You would curl up outside of your bed in a chair or fur as to not sleep in that awkward bed knowing that Ivar saw you as one thing only.

A womb for sons.

Kitta was his one true love— and Ragnhild had been wrong. Ivar didn’t love you. He wanted to possess you. Now, he had. You tried your best to just… stay quiet like he said. Kitta noticed too.

“You don’t want Ivar this weekend?” She asks while working her loom. You sit stitching your husband’s overtunics, making him a new brown one with a spiraling stitches. Ragnhild slipped off to cook while Uxi sped in and out from her area to yours.

You are cut short when one of your boys doddles up to you. Veifnr was holding some sort of wooden box, shaking it stubbornly as if to make it make more noise. The box is louder than he is, several rageful shakes rattling the contents.

“What is it Veifnr?” You hold out your hand. Veifnr hands you the box with the picks included which Ivar used to get about when off his crutch.

“You stole your father’s things.” You chuckle while setting them onto the table “He’ll be so pleased.”

Veifnr drops beside you taking out the wooden blocks piece by piece. Your attention shifts back to your wayward sister wife.

“After he sees the boys— he can go with you.” You say preferring a bed to sleep on. Kitta tilts her head, disbelieving. All the words she spilled in his ear had worked? Or was it something else entirely? Lately, it is as if she hardly needed to work you to get you to leave Ivar. It was automatic.

“You used to fight me with tooth and claw for him. What changed… is he not worth it now?”

You stay quiet a moment. “It is my fault for thinking I could be happy with another woman’s husband.” You say as you look to the glittering ring on your fingers. A new one. Ivar fashioned one of garnet for you, attempting to apologize for what he had called you. To you, it symbolized something else entirely.

That he owned you. That was as deep as it went.

* * *

“What is it with Veifnr?” Ivar says.

Your little boy is unlike his older brother. Uxi is a confident little boy, helping his father by pulling his weight in sharpening his tools for the upcoming raid. The boy grew too fast for you-- at no more than five, he was helping his father like any man would. Meanwhile, Veifnr was a little boy that had no preference for his father. He clung to your breast, even at two, drank of milk and had no interest in his father.

“What do you mean, what is it?” You ask while Veifnr lay in your arms upon the bed. Your arms had gone sore as you looked to place him down in his bed.

“He doesn’t speak. Don’t you teach him to speak?” Ivar complains bitterly. Uxi hands his father his axe as he polishes his belt with glee.

“If you had more patience for him, you’d realize that our son enjoys spending more time thinking than speaking.” You snap back. You dig in your pale furs, sliding out a metal prick of which he used to get around. Two of them-- Ivar’s eyes focus on them as you hand them over. They were his.

“He likes to take things.” Uxi tells his father, bringing back Ivar’s belt for inspection. Ivar sets it aside.

“He’s mute.” Ivar murmurs. “Uxi knew words upon words at his age.”

You can count them: water, ball, Fa, Ma, Ki, he would mimic the animals and hum at different octaves when you did. In fact, by this age, he could put sentences together rather easily. Uxi by all accounts was a very normal boy while your sweet Veifnr was not. Sometimes you consider him slow in social development. But it wasn’t his fault-- he didn’t enjoy people nearly as much as climbing on things and his mothers.

“He’ll learn, Ivar.” You sigh. “Give him time. Uxi, Veifnr-- time for bed.”

Audible groans slip out of Uxi’s mouth as you snap your fingers at him and point towards his bed, eliciting a tantrum quickly snuffed out when Ivar looks to him. “Listen to your mother.” He hisses, belt in hand. It quickly hushes him up.

Uxi hops off of the bed-- heading out for his bed to begrudgingly hop in. Ivar watches as you sway over, tucking him in. You look to the lyre that sits beside his bed, taking up the instrument to string a tune.

“I dreamed a dream of silk and fine furs,” You begin to sing, a jaunty strumming at the strings that would pull up lower and gradually more softly. Ivar leans back to watch as you hum the tune, eventually drawing Uxi and Veifnr’s eyelids heavy to shut. It is a repeat in his mind of the first time he saw you with those village girls-- singing to them of Odin while he watched. He has no regrets of the choice for the mother of his children.

As quickly as Uxi slips into sleep, you go to slip off your dress, sliding into nightgown while Ivar watches and you can almost smell his excitement as you turned in a low cut dress. Slowly, his tongue draws over the corner of his mouth. The intense gaze of his sapphire hues draws a chill down your spine. You slip off your earrings and climb into bed.

“You can go back to Kitta.” You say. Ivar stares at the mound that was your curves outlined behind the furs. He pulls himself out of his chair and drags himself onto the bed. His fingers slide underneath the furs, curling around your thick thighs, free of his usual love bites, to squeeze your ass.

“Ivar…” You start. He presses himself against you, kissing along your neck. It was convincing-- you could admit that much. It had had been months since his little outburst. Months since you allowed him to touch you.

“Stop… I’m tired.” You snap his hand away, finding that Ivar would growl in frustration.

“You are always so tired.” He complains rolling onto his back. His hands slip into his hair, ruffling it towards the hairline then back. You hear him rustle with his trousers and look over your shoulder to speak as he reaches for a clay bottle.

“That is why you have two wives. If I am tired, you can fuck Kitta.” You supply. Ivar pulls down your fur and you stupidly let him. Despite your fear that he would force himself on you-- nothing came. It did occur to you however what Ivar was doing.

“What if I don’t want her? What if I want a pussy that is all mine?” Ivar supplies as he drew a flax oil over his cock, drawing his hands from the base up along the underside of his cock to wrap a couple fingers around the space where his shaft met his head. He teases his fingers about, letting his fingers slide back down once more. You knew what he was doing-- why he was doing it. He wanted to seduce you back onto his dick.

You wouldn’t have any of that. But you couldn’t exactly stop staring either. His chest swells with air, skin bright by the kindled fire in the room. He wraps his fingers around his thick cock, stroking it in time with his laboured breathing.

“You always want Kitta.” You say, Ivar’s hand squeezes your ass one more time before he would let it wander back between his legs. You glance down, catching the oil dribbling over the hand fondling his balls-- and nope, nope. You had to remind yourself that no, you couldn’t have sex.

He’d think he was forgiven. But god-- when he made those obscene rasping breathes, hips thrusting into the makeshift hole in his hand, you knew you were in trouble. He was trouble.

“No.” He rasps. “I want to take you from behind, feel your round ass bouncing against my hips as I fuck you on my dick.” The space in between your legs fill with liquid lust, knowing you could have his dick pushing you apart, fucking your little cunt in seconds. You tease yourself with the knowledge as Ivar’s head drops back, fluffing against the furs while he squeezed the tip. Pre-cum dribbled down as if to mock you for stubbornness. Your words are congealed into sludgy moans, watching while Ivar turns on his hip.

“I want to hear your sweet cries as you cum just for me.” Ivar presses against you, hips shifting desperately against the linen of your dress. You don’t fight him as he fists himself with both hands, milking himself of his seed. His lips part, breath becoming harsher, moans becoming louder. He at last grasps your hips, rolling himself against your ass without entering you.

“Most of all-- I want to seed your womb and watch you grow with my sons like Kitta never could. Or perhaps a daughter. Do you want a daughter?” Ivar moans your name, desperate for more friction as he grinds up against you-- you want to give him more. A part of you hates yourself for that.

“Yes.” You answer.

Ivar groans, “Of course you do, princess. I’d fill you dripping-- fuck!” His end catches up with him quick, ripping the words right out of his mouth. He cums in thick ropes against your ass, spilling his seed over the soft material of your nightgown. His tip twitches excitedly as he spills himself, hips shifting against your ass to ride out the rest of his orgasm. He comes down with a slap to your ass, rolling onto his back as he thinks of what he just did. He had two wives. He rarely-- if ever, needed to masturbate. Yet the bed was still creaking as you go to clean your dress up. As you clean and come back, the bed still feels cold, despite your own fingers working you to orgasm time and time again at night.

* * *

After yesterday, it was easier to eat with Hvitserk and Ragnhild. Hvitserk looked over to your full plate as you fiddle with your porridge, moving the slush about. You let him rub himself on you-- where was your resolve? That no would mean no! It had gone.

“Eat (Y/N).” Hvitserk says, knowing that you were thinking. It wasn’t just because of last night either. You seem all the more depressed since that fight— never receiving an apology or sweet words to make it better. He misses the playful fights and seeing Ivar’s snide glares.

“I’m not hungry.” You say. Hvitserk swallows dryly, congealed anxiety in his throat. Before he can say anything, your head snaps to the side because of the hum on Ivar’s lips. A glance reveals your husband is there, his other arm taken up with Kitta’s.

“Sverri’s sails have been spotted. You’ll come with me to welcome him.” Ivar says without room for debate. You push away your full bowl of food and quickly slide out ahead of him, jumping on your toes. Ivar follows after, annoyed by how quickly you move ahead of him.

“Wife—“ He calls to you. You still, and as he comes up beside you, you felt his hand leave Kitta’s for your waist. He motions her to walk ahead. His fingers creep around airily, touching but just barely, churning a repulsion through your stomach that soars instantly throughout your body.

“What is it?” You ask. Ivar buries the crook of his nose in your shoulder.

“I want to take you in my bed tonight. I’ve missed you.” Ivar whispers with the crackling of the wind jarring you just as much as the words out of your husband’s mouth. Small peckish kisses leave chills down your neck.

“I… I don’t want to have sex with you, Ivar.” You mumble. Those sweet hands quickly tighten, leaving bruising touches all over your waist. Just seconds ago he nearly worshipped the ground you stepped on, now that he could not get what he wanted? He was angry.

“What do you mean you don’t want to?” He asks with a crestfallen smile. You’ve tried too hard for so long trying to appease him. Fall on your knees and give him what he wanted no matter what it was. Now that your boys were bigger, you found yourself exhausted.

“If I am just a womb to you…” You pluck up the smooth leather of his gloves, “...I don’t feel like having another baby.”

The sounding of drums ripples in your ear. Maidens and men flit around the both of you toward the shoreline. Ivar jerks you around with his hand behind your waist. You find your hands pressing against his chest.

“I was angry. You’ll make me angry again.” He says.

Thump! Thump! The drums resounded the screams of the crowd. You glance over to find Sverri’s richly green sails have docked. He was here.

“Your angry lips speak what the heart cannot normally say, Ivar.” You glaze a thumb over his lips, narrow as they sat in flat displeasure. You lean forward to place a gentle kiss to his forehead. Uxi and Veifnr dart out of the Great Hall beside Ragnhild and other thralls. As your lips pull from his flat forehead, you look out towards the shoreline. He was here.

“You’ll have another baby.” Ivar grasps your wrist as you try to pull from him. “I’m sure of it.”

* * *

Queen Kitta stood on the aged planks of Kattegat’s pier. It was a loud ordeal, the beating of drums and children soaring down to see Sverri’s vast army of warriors. They rolled up the green sails, the arms of Yggdrasil slipping out of view when you came up to her.

“What was it Ivar wanted?” She asks, bending her head down to you. Her neatly woven blonde braids shift with her, as regal as a Queen as any with a glimmering headpiece reflecting the beams of sunlight.

“Sex.” You answer in a shift of your arms in front of your baby blue and silver skirts. They fold, prim and proper while you await the foreign king.

“You didn’t give it to him?” Kitta hums in a barely audible tune.

“No.” You respond. Kitta glances to you, lips pulling into a small grin. The Queen couldn’t deny it. Her husband losing the one thing he wanted? It felt good. He deserved it.

“That’s the way to do it.”

Kitta and you gaze in a fixed stare toward the newcomers. Neither wife notices the slow ambling of your husband when the King steps off his boat. Oh god— he looks just as you remember. His long legs easily took over to you in quick sweeps of his boots, and yes, it was you he was going after.

“Oh Baldur.” You mumble. You can’t help but to fuss with a regal braid, sloppy pieces of hair poking out where they probably shouldn’t have.

“Stop fussing, you look pretty.” She whispers into your ear. You didn’t feel fine. You definitely didn’t feel fine. Ivar was staring hotly when King Sverri came to you. He dips his head down, staring through thick black bangs at you. His emerald eyes glint, a delightful creasing forming under his eyes against high cheekbones.

“My Lady Princess.” His voice falls over you like the rain, thick and heavy. And wet, you give a shuddering breath, knowing what is between your legs.

“M… my King.” You say as he brings your hand to his lips. A chaste kiss leaves you giggling— and Ivar seething.

“It’s been far too long. Queen Kitta, you’ll have to forgive me. She makes me weak at the sight.” Sverri releases your hands, leather clad hands shifting to pat Kitta once on the shoulder before retreating.

“She had better not make you too weak.” Ivar grasps your upper arm, yanking you back to his side. Your hand shoots to his on your arm. “As she is my wife.”

Your heart feels as if its leaping by the way Sverri ran his tongue across his lower lip. He folds his arms one over another with a visible roll of his narrow eyes. He says nothing but at times, you wonder if the dark glare of his eyes told everything.

“A-Ah! You must be hungry. Do you want to go eat?” You snap Ivar’s hold on your arm. You reach up to take Sverri’s bicep, giggling even more when his muscles shift to let you lace his fingers with yours. The King follows you in a wave of his cloak while Ivar is left ready to push forward and yank his ass back.

“She wants to fuck him. Why don’t you let her? Perhaps she would forgive you.” Kitta giggles out, looking to her glowering husband. Of course you wanted to. You needed love that was… all yours. He knew you wanted it. If it were Kitta, he would let her. But every moment he replayed Sverri hovering over you, not just as the mother of his children, his throat felt dry. He couldn’t let it happen.

“I didn’t know a princess could cook.” Sverri chuckles as he watches you retrieve bread of the oven. You rolled your eyes at him, smearing butter and honey over several slices. The plate squeaks across the wooden table as you walk over to him, pouring mead into his mug.

“You think yourself so funny don’t you?” You tease.

“Quite.”

You move to sit beside him and of course, he gives you a slice of his bread to eat. You are of it lightly— watching him gobble down his brunch. Sverri leans over the table, elbows against the wood. He’s all smiles and sunshine looking over to you.

“I’m surprised you’re not pregnant.” Sverri laughs. “That is how he likes to keep you. Baby after baby.”

Sure it is. You were pregnant when you encountered the king once again. Veifnr and Uxi were only a few years apart. Ivar had made it clear that he wanted many children. You would have to supply them.

“It is why he married me. Kitta is sterile.” You say.

Sverri brought the back of his hand to his lips. “He married you to keep you as a concubine?” He suggests. You toss the nearest cloth at him, catching on the prickly sides of his head.

“I am not a concubine.” You pout.

Sverri slides the cloth off of his head. “Ah, forgive me lady princess. I only meant that it is witty.” He snorts.

“How witty is it to keep two angry wives?” You snap back.

“Not that part. I would get rid of the first. Keep the pretty one.” Sverri muses. You shoot him a warning of a glare-- as if you know he’s just trying to be a charming little thing. Perhaps to make you feel better about your own situation. You shake off thought of that.

“Hush up.”

At another table, Ivar sat with Faksi and his beautiful Kitta. Things were admittedly tense since he last came for Yule. Faksi’s hand encircles his chin, teasing his beard. They both watch as you recline onto Sverri-- daring to laugh at his stupid jokes.

“He was the one, you know.” Faksi breaks the silence by an uncharacteristically quiet statement. To Ivar, it sounded as if Faksi’s voice was an obscene crackle, agitating him farther. He turns to Sverri with with a deadpan stare.

“The one, what?” Ivar asks.

Faksi rumbles a laugh. “He’s the other king that wanted her hand.”

And while he always knew it, Ivar couldn’t help his fist from rebounding on the table, hands all a shake. Your head snaps up as Ivar shoves the table over. Without saying a word, Ivar calls your attention back to him. You rush to kneel beside him, hands at his lap.

“What happened?” You say, picking up his axe off the ground.

“We raid as soon as King Sweyn arrives.” He snarls out to the kings gathered.

Beside him, Kitta is forgotten altogether. But she knew more than you why he was having a sudden change of heart. Why Ivar would rush out. He couldn’t face thought of King Sverri and you together. It was anything to get you away from the King.


	13. Intermission: Sverri's First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sverri's first sight of the reader doesn't exactly go as planned. What a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a few years prior to the beginning of the prologue. Unrelated to what is going on right now!

It was typical for a king to go to Uppsala to go to the gods feet and offer their sacrifices. As a young king himself, he learned swiftly to heed to the gods. So he would go to Uppsala across dangerous snow capped mountains and steep cliffs with what was left of his family.

After the ambush– there weren’t many close to him but the female and male thralls he learned to call family save his one special little grandmother. He is glad to see the trees kissing the sky and the heavy wooden temple that roars with life from not only his people but those that came with the many other kings.

“Focus, Sverri.” The voice of a shuddering older woman shakes him out of his daze. His arm was laced by hers to support her past the entrance to sacred ground. There is a festival occurring with great drink and blots, sacrifices to the gods. It is quite a time to be a King.

“I’m sorry grandmother.” Sverri says, tearing his eyes from the thick furs around the necks of beautiful women to his grandmother’s hair as thin and white as the strands spun by spiders. His eyes are in a constant state of curiosity taking in the sight of those around him. Sometimes, he swears his eyes have their own sort of mind of their own.

“If you have wandering eyes.” Her voice shakes as she speaks. “No woman will want to marry you.”

He hangs his head– dark wavy strands shading his view. That was exactly why he came here. He heard of a great beautiful princess that King Faksi had. She was said to be a daughter of the goddess Freyja: a fierce, sexual and powerful goddess who instilled wisdom and fear both in the hearts of men.

If he prayed to the gods about her distant daughter, could he perhaps have her?

He goes inside the temple, sprinkled with blood and spoke to the gods. His fingers slide across the cool expanse of wood, forehead leaning against it when he hears it. The soft whispers of a voice. Your gentle voice reminds him something foreign and in the same breath, familiar. How he wishes he could place it. His still heart picks up in a rough and harsh beat, over and over again. He quickly realizes that it’s you– the girl that he heard so much about. He can smell the very rich spices on your skin marking you as a princess.

“Freyja– do you think he will propose to me, mother?”

As he sets his forehead against the wood, he catches you out of the corner of his eye. A less than shy cobalt dress was tightened by a leather cincher around your midsection that matches the ruddy furs around your neck. Your long hair tumbles below her hips, probably farther than that, braided with the buds of beautiful flowers and set with amber clips. And god– his breath was failing him. He was done for. He aches for another word off your lips: to perhaps ask him his name.

“Sverri.”

A thwack set Sverri off balance again. He stumbles forward, spinning around to see that his grandmother is there behind him. Sverri swishes to stand up properly, heart aching when you turn with painted lips to frown at him. He wants to explain to you that it wasn’t what it looks like. He wasn’t being a pervert! It was awe that claimed him. There was no reason to be perverted if there was nothing but blank admiration for you. Fuck!

“Excuse me.” You bow, darting off in a wave of skirts. Sverri staggers forward as if he longs to touch you but couldn’t. Not unless you gave him permission.

“What were you doing!?” His grandmother says. He looks to the beautiful woman that slips out of his fingers with a shuddering sigh.

“She was beautiful.” Sverri murmurs. There’s his grandmother’s answer. He was getting his rocks off to a beautiful girl with the long, braided hair. The way she even ran was enticing him, just… just out of reach.

“Of course she was beautiful! That was King Faksi’s daughter, (Y/N). But don’t go swinging your axe in a temple.” She reprimands as if the gods weren’t haughty enough on their own. He doubts that looking at a woman would curse him. 

“Excuse me grandmother.” He slips out from the side of her after the girl. He quickly breaches the nose of the temple, feet beating the sturdy steps before he realizes what he should be doing. He moves fast. Faster so when he bumps into you, he tumbles you forward into the great strong chest in front of you. The man in front of you winds his thick hand around your waist.

“Ow!” You shriek.

The voice in front of you was raspy and thick. “Are you okay?” He says. The King noticed right away who you were with, Ubbe Ragnarsson. The oldest of Ragnar’s sons who kept you against his chest as if he had some stake in the matter. You clung onto Ubbe’s overcoat with a nod when the Ragnarsson looks to him in discontent. They had met before now and would probably meet again. Sverri looks to you a little too eagerly.

“Princess (Y/N) is it?” He suggests.

“Yes, that is me. Can I help you?” You say skeptically– just as Sverri offered out his hand to you. You weren’t stupid. You knew what taking his hand would mean. Touching Sverri would give him permission to touch you. In turn, your father would have to consent to such a touch, being that you were only a princess. Or at least in public that was. You would be giving him permission to pursue you.

Before you could respond, you felt Ubbe’s muscular arms tightening to pull you back to your face. That decision is slapped out of Sverri’s hand by Ubbe’s nose burying in the crook of your neck. Sverri’s hand curls in, forming a fist that he moves by his side. You didn’t necessarily deny him– but you didn’t give him permission either. He convinces himself not to mark this as a rejection thrown out by you, but by Ubbe.

“Ubbe he was talking to me…” You mumble.

“Not anymore.”

* * *

He has three chances. Three chances to make you his– or three chances to back the fuck off and find another woman. Seeing you in another man’s arms? Now, that was what set his stomach alight. Ubbe moved you away from the King to another area deep within the woods.

Sverri knew peeping was wrong. He should not be here, tugging green brush away from the echoing voices. You stand in a pool of your cerulean dress, facing out towards the Ragnarsson. Ubbe’s large hand slides over your cheek, down over the side of your neck where he holds you with a firm grip.

“He wanted you.” Ubbe says, tugging your head back with his other hand. “Do you want him?”

The force is intoxicating to you. Sverri knew by the way you look at him, drooling for more. Your hands fist his overtunic, head tipping back in his hand and lips tickled by strands of his thick beard that pepper his young face.

“No of course not… why would I?” You gasp out the end of his sentence as the hand on your hair drifts down between your smooth sex, cleaned just for him. Ubbe grunts, slipping his fingers between your sweet cunt to rub along your sex. You gasp as his thick digits run around your clit down to your entrance. Sverri doesn’t have to ask to know you aren’t a virgin anymore. He only wonders if Ubbe took it from him.

“He’s a King.” Ubbe says, only to hear your moans spill out over the woods, trilling in Sverri’s ear as he watches Ubbe tease your soaked cunt. Sverri knows how excited you were for him– groaning as he releases his own cock from the confines of his pants. He fists the shaft, drifting up to the top of his tip that beads with precum.. He can hear the squish of Ubbe’s fingers in your slick. The oldest of sons squeezes your neck to make you answer him.

“And you’re Ubbe, son of Ragnar. I gave my virginity to you for a reason.” You gasp, swirling your hips back and forth on his hand for the friction. He allows it, causing Sverri to lean forward, watching as you fuck his hand. You gave yourself to Ubbe– Ubbe had your virginity, he had to. Ubbe’s thumb shifts up to press flatly against your clit, massaging the little button. But every time you became close to your orgasm, he shifted back down to your inner lips, teasing them.

“Please!“ You beg, on the edge again as Ubbe laughs, leaving you only seconds to unbuckle his trousers. He would shift onto the ground, bringing his cock into his hand. He fists his dick rapidly, eyes never leaving yours while you whine, crawling over Ubbe. His tip grazes over your outer lips. He lifts his hand back to stroke over your cunt, lifting his lips over your neck— then lower to your breasts. His lips purse around the nipple, glazing his tongue along your nipple in a tease.

“Please Ubbe… please.” You gasp just as he leads his tip up against your entrance— snapping inside the walls that were just his. He scans your features for any pain, but instead, you rock your hips up and down his dick. You rock him deep, sinking him to hilt before leaning up to his twitching tip each time.

“I’m okay, Ubbe.” You say to his unspoken question. Ubbe’s hands find your hips as you move on him, smoothing out your thrusts on his dick. Both bodies snap against one another with effortless grace, pleasure mounting deep in your stomach until you squeal through the forest for Ubbe. The birds flit away from the high arching trees.

Holy fuck– Sverri curses, hips shifting with his hand under the quickening tempo Ubbe gives to you. His black hair feels sticky, matting to his pale skin around his tired, emerald eyes. Ubbe’s once short thrusts become unapologetic thrusts, working his dick as deep as your cervix.

“I’m gonna cum!” You shriek. Sverri hears as you drag a long breath through your teeth. Sverri memorizes how tightly your face screws. The goosebumps sliding along your flesh as you near your orgasm and fuck– how you bite your lower lip to hold back those moans that fill his ear like the mist of the beach, spraying him so that he might even feel it on his tongue.

“Make a mess.” Ubbe moans just as you cum with a punched out scream, Ubbe’s dick pounding you through it. Your pussy spasms around him, sore. Your eyes flood with tears, so eager for another orgasm as you rock from the power of your orgasm. Ubbe yanks you down— and Sverri quickly realizes that Ubbe knows he’s there. His eyes catch Sverri’s as he winds his arms around your back, pounding in until he squeezes you tight, pouring his cum into your pussy.

“Let’s go again.” Ubbe says with an uneven breath– fingers caressing your sides. Sverri’s hand comes over his mouth, holding himself back as he spurts his cum over his fingers. As he looks back up, Ubbe has shifted you up to a tree. Closer this time. Sverri shifts so quietly that you fail to hear him slipping away from the foliage.

* * *

Just because you were fucking him didn’t mean that he couldn’t try and claim you. He could extend an offer for marriage to Faksi, make sure that you know nothing of his proposal until you meet. You could consider your suitors and pick. Surely, if you gave yourself to Ubbe he had two options. Either Ubbe married you or he did. How many men would ache for a woman that was deflowered? But at the same time, how could he truly bank on that with good conscious?

“Fuck.” Sverri’s hands find his head, eyes darting around the women that were making flower crowns. Suddenly, none of the beautiful women appealed anymore. He could only think of the beautiful girl praying to the gods for a new husband. You weren’t just beautiful. You had him. You had him and he didn’t know what he could do to relinquish the fire that seers his bones. This longing, this ache, it felt like it would go on forever until he could make you his.

“My King?”

He glances up, emerald eyes painted by grey bags of sleepless nights when he realized: this wasn’t any girl. This was his princess that stood with your long hair in beautiful braids down your breasts. A buttercup dress this time, it fit you like a glove. That lit up his world as if it was a sunny day.

“Princess?” He sits upright as you lean in, breasts bumping his face. You arrange a crown of dark foliage and deeper still flowers on his head. His cheeks heat a million shades of red. Focus Sverri– his grandmother’s voice is in his ear. Had it been any other woman, he could have.

“I’m sorry for being so rude before. My Ubbe— he’s a little territorial.” You say with a smile, drawing your fingers through his dark hair almost affectionately. “Maybe we could try again. You are?”

“King Sverri.” He answers, offering out his hand again. This time— you look to it. Graciously you extend your hand out to him. A shocking bright smile spreads across his lips as he takes your hand for a kiss across your knuckles. And as you giggle, his face lights up in glee.

You gave him permission to touch you.

“Princess (Y/N), Faksidottir.” You say, moving to sit beside him. Sverri looks around for Ubbe, finding that he’s nowhere to be found.

“You’re not with Ubbe?” He suggests.

“I was. But he went hunting with his brothers this morning.” You slide your hands around to your lap.

“He’s lucky.” Sverri says and adorably you reply again.

“He is! It must be nice to have brothers. I’m an only child. My mother ran off when I was young and Daddie has raised me since. Do you have any brothers?” You run off on a tangent, leaving Sverri chuckling. Those were not the reasons that Ubbe was so lucky. 

“He means because you’re mine.”

Ubbe stops before you, throwing a look to Sverri whose eyes flinch to the side in his submission. His face cracks as you lean up to take Ubbe’s arm, winding tightly around him to his pleasure. He hoped to have you some time longer. Sverri knew that Ubbe would take you away. No, he thought. No. He wouldn’t let Ubbe defeat him. He’d figure it out even if he had to fight forever. At some point, one night, you would be his.

* * *

At some point during the week, he noticed a change. Ubbe wasn’t as strongly regulating you. The men that tried to approach you weren’t bat off by Ubbe despite you staying at night with him. But when he saw you running out of Ubbe’s tent that night in disarray, he knew something was wrong. A couple of men were thrown back when they attempt to inquire what had happened.

Maybe he would be too. But… he couldn’t help wonder if you needed him. You sat alone on top of a rock, hands in the sex kissed hair that stuck to you so messily. There are choked sniffles and you hold your head as Sverri approaches, his boots upheaving dirt. He slips off his silvery furs and arranges it on your shoulders to cover your strewn top.

“Can I sit here?” He motions beside you. You nod in response, trying to compose yourself. He slides onto the rock beside you, leaning with his elbows onto his knees.

“It’s… pretty out here isn’t it?” He tries to look past your curtain of hair surrounding your eyes. You shift around your face, likely cleaning the mess of tears, but more likely to hide your beautiful face from him.

“Yes… it it is.” You say while pulling the furs closer around your shoulders. He sighs, looking over a hook like grouping of stars.

“Yggradsil— do you see it? Huginn and Munnin are recounting everything to Odin in Midgard right now.” He outlines it with his finger, then moving his hand as far as your jawline. “Including how prettily you cry.”

You smile just so slightly. “Odin will already know what ails me.” You sniffle.

“Then can Sverri, my princess?” Sverri says, rolling the words off his tongue like sweet nectar. If only his beautiful bird would come for a drink.

“Prince Ubbe… he doesn’t want to marry me. I-I gave him my virginity. What do I do now? I’m ruined.” You explain, having banked so heavily on the thought that Ubbe would marry you if he had sex with you. You should have known better— he probably gave this same song and dance to plenty of women. Except it was different with you.

You were a woman yes, but a princess. You needed to remain chaste until marriage. You gave yourself to Ubbe thinking that you would marry him. Except he didn’t want you each of the two times you asked him. Sverri gapes, “You’re the most beautiful woman in Midgard—“

You scoff loudly. You’ve heard that too many times. “Clearly beauty isn’t everything. He doesn’t want to hurt me more by marrying me. At least if he married me no one would see my father like they will now.”

They would say that this was why a single father could not raise a lady. A woman’s touch was what was needed to bring up a woman properly. You couldn’t face him now. He probably noticed the fact that Ubbe wasn’t around as much.

“You’ll find another.” Sverri supplies the only words he could. If Ubbe lost interest in you, life moved on. It wasn’t the end of things. Still, your tears ache him.

“Who on Midgard would marry a sullied princess?” You cry out.

“I would.” He says, in a moment that brings your eyes snapping toward him. He flushes, embarrassed of his words. “It only takes one good man to make you happy.” Sverri chimes with a great, big smile that takes him over ear to ear. It’s impossible not to smile just a little at you– especially when you set your head against his shoulder.

“It’s cold–” You complain, wanting to avoid the issue entirely. The tears have sting your face so raw that you feel as if you can’t cry anymore. Sverri doesn’t mind. He looks around to his tent, hopefully.

“Do you want to come to my tent?” He suggests. There’s a bounty of silvery furs and warm forest green blankets waiting there. Foolishly he prays that you would want to go if not for the excuse of cuddling up under a cool night with you. That’s all he needed.

“No… People will talk.” You say dashing any excitement from his bones. His face drops slightly dejected, slumping his shoulders.

“Then we can stay here.” When you nod in agreement, Sverri drops back onto the rock, gingerly sliding his hand around your waist. You stiffen– and he almost jerks back. But then he feels you shifting atop of him. You make yourself comfortable there, despite the leaping in his chest strumming the beats of his heart. You say nothing, slipping into a heavy sleep that leaves Sverri tracing the shape of the constellation he so admired on your back.

Eventually though, the chill began to numb even his bones. He has to convince himself to unwind his legs from yours, snapping onto crisp leaves as he moves you into his arms. You whine something unintelligible, burrowing back into the warmth of his furs. A short walk later, his knuckles rasp on the supporting beam of a tent. Pressing through is a large man– taller than he with spindly white hair and the deepest of eyes that seem to accuse him when he sees whom is in his arms.

“She needed consoling, I assure you she fell asleep upon me.” Sverri rasps. Faksi pulls apart his tent flaps, letting him slip by to slide you inside of your fathers tent, dark furs keeping you warmer than he could ever on that cold rock. Almost affectionately he would tuck you in before Faksi came behind him, waiting for a complete explanation. He gives it knowing how it might be easier for Faksi to be angry at him than you.

But he says nothing as he slumps into his chair, thinking. Obviously when he gave Ubbe permission to touch you, he surely thought it would end in marriage. Instead he shamed you by leaving you. Faksi’s hand scratches at his beard, drifting back to the top of his head to grip his hair there. He is worried. Any man would be worried. As a princess, it was expected of you to be more chaste than other women. Now that you lost all purity to your name to this Ragnarsson, he could only imagine how it would be to find a new suitor where you had plenty before.

“It will be impossible to find her a husband now.” He hisses out. Sverri catches opportunity– kneeling before the great King Faksi, eye to eye.

“I’ll take her.” He blurts out. It doesn’t take but a second to know he misspoke that proposal. He could have proposed using sweet words, ones of alliance or how he dreamed of you. No, instead Faksi raises to his full height over Sverri, hissing sharply.

“She isn’t for sale.” He bites out. “Get out.”

Sverri is quick to comply.

* * *

“You didn’t!” A dusty blonde braids the sides of his dark hair back while he bore off into the other thralls.

“I did.”

A thwack of his grandmother’s hand against his cheek rips his face to the side. He should have have expected that with her. She promised she would spin his face around if he behaved out of line, and here it was!

“How are you going to marry her now, hm?” Grandmother says, hands forming balls on her hips as she waits for Sverri to compose himself like a real man would. He holds his head evenly up just as his Grandmother flicked her hands into the sky. “The Gods KNOW what Faksi thinks of you now.”

“He doesn’t even know we exist, grandmother.” Sverri informs. It is no secret that his territory is a tiny one.

“Then make him know– go raiding and conquer somewhere. You are Viking, aren’t you? Or are you soft?”

I’m not soft! He tells himself, glowering down as the thrall finishes. He nods in agreement. If Faksi didn’t acknowledge him as being more than the little empire on the horizon, he would have to make him notice.

“Sure.” He sighs, this would be a long adventure to become less of nobody and into a somebody. An abrasive knock shatters through his thought– and just like before, his breath is utterly stolen from him when you walk in, cinched tight in a stunning dark green gown. Your warm furs take the place of his from last night. You instead hold his furs in your arms, shyly looking to Sverri.

“Was I interrupting?” You ask sweetly.

“Not at all my princess!” His grandmother says with a straight posture, smacking the back of her grandson’s neck to stand up. She doesn’t have to do it twice. Sverri takes your hands, walking you back to the secluded corner of his tent. There’s no one else there– no one to judge you on having given away your chasteness.

“I wanted to return the furs. Fadir and I are about to disembark.” You say, breaking the touch to hand him his thick furs. Sverri was sure he would have had more time with you, debating about what he should have said the night before. The words are caught in his throat, begging to explain himself or at the very least implore you to do as he asked Faksi– consider his proposal.

“He’s taking you from me that fast?” He teases. It makes his heart feel a little less weak to imagine that he was stupid Ubbe, leaving his beautiful girl with her father for the summer. You tilt your head down into a nod.

“Afraid so, my King. Father has too much land to stay too long.” You say, not knowing the way your words tickle him just right. Your King– words he could get used to. Sverri bends his head somewhat as he takes the furs from you, pacing back to set them down before ruffling his hand through his loose hair that drapes along the side of his face.

“Thank you.. For telling him.” You say. Before he could say it was no big deal, you lean up, pecking his cheek with your lips so soft, they felt like silk against his skin. Sverri was expecting you to hate him for that, but somehow, it must have been easy not to tell him. He would do it again, if only he couldn’t freeze up and say something as stupid to King Sverri as he had.

“Of… of course.” Sverri looks down, cheeks hot. He glances over to find his grandmother wears a more than amused smile. The three of his most favourite thralls giggle among themselves and cause him to clear his throat.

“Yes… well. We’ll see each other again.” He assures, eager to lean forward and swipe a kiss of your pouting lips. But he can’t– if Faksi is to consider his proposal, he has to act like the proper and good king everyone expected him to be. You lean up once again, stealing his breath away with another kiss to his forehead.

“Yes,” You nod eagerly. “I have the feeling we will.”


	14. Prologue XIII: Apologize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader visits the seer.

Most often, if you could get away with not seeing the seer, you would not go to him. But things were changing. They weren’t for the better. Your relationship with Ivar began to get more and more heated. He would try and sleep with you, you would reject him, he would promise you that you would end up back in his bed. You sit with your hands folded in your lap as the seer’s melded eyes gazed straight through you like no man’s ever had. Even Sverri– who waited outside for you. You sit there with the seer’s dwindling patience.

Ask or get out. You can hear it beating along in your skull.

“Ivar has called me his womb. He’s disgraced me. What sort of husband says that of their wife? Should… I go home?” You finally ask.

The seer looks at you– as if it highly amused him. Before you can elaborate, his puffy purple lips spread into a smile. One that runs a hot chill like a smoldering blade down your spine. He did not even have to speak, even without those eyes, the expressions of his lips is all the answer you need.

“You can try.”

Descriptiveness was never his strong suit. You remember why you hate to come to the seer when his lips spread once more, a rare venture. You edge your ass toward the end of the seat. As a woman, you wanted retribution for the words your husband told you. No self respecting Norse woman would let her husband speak to her in such a way as if you were no more than legs to lay between for children, a womb for him to lay his seed in and hands to bring them up.

“Then the gods want me to stay. Even though I will never be his Queen?” You ask. Again, there is no answer from the seer, but a rippling chuckle that ends in a scoff. His spindly fingers play with bone and rune, placing them on the small table by his bed.

“How little you know! Go away, princess (Y/N). Leave me.”

Despite his harsh command, you challenge him for one last question. “Answer me this. Will I have more Ivar’s children?” You ask.

“I see more young ones between this world and the next. The Bride of the Vanir has decided your fate in many ways. Now go.”

His hand uncurls-- and you lean forward, taking his hand and leaning down your head. As your tongue runs down the digits of his palm, you lament bitterly. There was your answer.

The moment you stepped out of the Seer’s hut, you met Sverri crouched down over the floor. His fingers were dark with ash but before you can answer, he snakes his hand around your waist. Bizarrely affectionate for a Viking, you think.

“What did he have to say?” Sverri asks.

“That Freyja already has in store for me what she wills.” You answer quickly. If Freyja had chosen– so it would be. The Norns would carve their runes on Yggradsil’s roots and you would account for what was to come.

“Verdandi and Skuld will give you room to shape your destiny.” Sverri steps in place with you as you walked through Kattegat’s many dusty roads. Of course you knew what he said was true but– you knew that you would not have as much leeway as a common person.

“They favour Ivar.” You drop a hand to one of his on your waist. A sharp ringing breaks you away from Sverri. The whistling is from the Queen who stands confidently from the entrance to the Great Hall in a blaring red dress. Her posture is tight, lips pulling into a tight lipped frown.

“(Y/N)!” Kitta’s blonde hair is pulled back into an elaborate updo, a few wayward strands slipping from the shining bright headpiece. You look down to Sverri’s hand. It recoils like a snake from your waist to your back.

“It looks like I’m being run off again.” Sverri takes a few bouncing steps back. “Goodbye, my lady princess.”

As he runs off, you approach the door as if to go inside and check on your boys. Kitta stops you with her hand shooting to grasp your elbow and jerks you onto her body. She steadies you by her hands around your cinched waist.

“I thought you were going to see the seer.” She says with a biting glare. “Ragnhild has been with the boys all morning. Where were you?”

Her grip is bruise inducing. You want to bite back at her that it was not so long– but you realize that earlier in the morning, Sverri called you to mend his shirt. You had gone despite the fact that he likely had thralls that could do such good work.

“I went to see the seer.” You snarl out. Hold your tongue, you think. You can’t curse her for a second time. Not only would it be improper… Ivar was still bitter about what you had done to beloved, sweet Kitta who walked with a limp just like he.

“Then what did he say?” She accuses. You know why. She is less interested in the words of the seer than you proving that you had gone to see him. Anyone in town could account for your fist jingling the bones of the Seer’s hut.

“That I cannot run from the gods. Or from giving Ivar more sons. Now let go of me.” You rip your arm from her, bracing yourself with an annoyed grunt. Kitta lets you go so graciously.

“Watch yourself, (Y/N).” Kitta motions out to the gathering of men and women. “You cannot let yourself be swayed. Even by Sverri.”

* * *

The luck of the gods. Ivar Ragnarsson always had luck in raiding. There was a bounty of gold-- what there wasn’t, however, was luck with women. Not Kitta who kissed him with all the love in the world, but you. He knew that you were upset with him for taking away Sverri with an early raid. If it wasn’t written on your face, it was the night the landing party came back. Uxi and Veifnr were ecstatic. Kitta was ecstatic. You? Your head was turned in another direction as if looking for your dearest friend.

So instead of going to Kitta– he had come to you to begin his three days in your bed. They began roughly. You did not want to speak to him, and by and by, it was making his heart bitter. Even so, you were the mother of his children. He had to try. Setting out a bit of bait never hurt.

“(Y/N).” He says as you turn to face him in bed. Your head settles on downy pillows and you look to him with eyes puffy from your long day of chasing after his sons.

“What is it?” You say a bit sharply.

“Do you want to invite him to our bed?” Ivar’s hand comes up to your cheek with a soft caress. You bent your head back knowing who he was talking about. Sverri. He meant to invite Sverri to your bed. The thought brings heat racing to your face, slapping his jaw with a pop. How could he ask you such a thing? Did you look like someone that would just jump cock to cock? You must have!

“NO! What are you talking about!?” You snap, bringing your hand up to smack him in the chest. Ivar flinches under your smack.

“You look at him like he’s dessert to your otherwise bland dinner.” Ivar says with a roll of his eyes. He– obviously being the bland dinner in question.

“So you think that I want to fuck him just like that!? Do I look like Kitta to you!?” You smack his chest again. Again he flinches back, lurching to grab your wrist. He tugs you over him and you would fall on him rather easily.

“That is what Faksi and Kitta say. It is why you won’t fuck me.” Ivar growls lowly. “They want you to leave me.”

You look at him, face blank. Of course you knew that your father and Kitta had been ganging up on Ivar as of late. It must have affected him more than he let on.

“Listen to me, my love.” You cup his cheeks, finding that his normally hard eyes soften into wet tears as his hand comes up. You caress his cheek with your thumb. “I won’t sleep with you because you never apologized to me.”

Ivar stares back with just as much intensity. Almost as if he couldn’t believe what you just told him. You wouldn’t sleep with him because… because… of what he said. It was obviously bothering him– why would he be so emotional otherwise?

“I told you I did not mean it.” Ivar grumbles. “I was jealous.”

“That is still not an apology.” You say.

“Consider it one. It was jealousy.” Ivar states again.

Jealous of what? Of his brother? After you told him you never slept with him? If you weren’t annoyed before– you were now. You roll to the corner of your bed and clench the obnoxiously soft pillow. Why couldn’t he… why couldn’t he just apologize?

But then you speak.

“Fine. If you won’t apologize, let us bring him to our bed.”


	15. Prologue XIV: Much Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar makes a decision that will haunt him the rest of his years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-Con in this chapter.  
> Pissing contest between Kitta vs Reader as well.

It had been a year. A whole year since Sverri had been here. A year that you held out on him and with Kitta as the only one to warm his cock, he was irritated. He grew tired of their song and dance of sleeping with others, indulging in fetish. The sex had grown awkward and dull on him. He loved those past times, yes, but he missed nights of soft touches. When Kitta tried– it never felt quite so right. He tried his best that afternoon to do all that Kitta wanted whilst tap dancing around any aggression she had. Somehow that night, it failed when he lost his erection. Now he was prepping himself to leave. Kitta lay on the bed in a mix of brown and red furs examining him.

“Are you tired of me?” She asks. Ivar rolls his eyes in a glance to her as he tightens his gloves around his hands.

“Why would I be tired of you?” Ivar says monotonously, a still and even tone.

“You no longer want sex.” She points out the obvious. “It’s something I’ve done.”

He stands with his crutch under his arm, letting his fingers stretch out to stroke her cheek. High cheekbones and hair light as wheat mark her different from you. Most of all– its those sharp eyes that slant with obvious disgust. Though as of late, you looked at him the same way. Even so, if he stayed in Kitta’s bed, at least she wouldn’t berate you. It was something.

“I’m not interested in sex. I’m interested in the campaign.” He forms an excuse, beginning to limp on his one crutch towards the door. He manages to stretch out his hand toward the door frame when he hears Kitta call out to him.

“So if (Y/N) offered herself to you this moment, you reject her too, right?” She asks. Ivar’s hand curls on the door, digging up wood as he twists his head down, turning over his shoulder to look at her.

“What is it with you?” Ivar clutches the doorframe.

“You love her more than you love me.” Kitta accuses of him gesturing towards her rooms. “That was not the deal in marrying her. She was only to be a wife to breed.”

 _You need a wife to breed with._ His mother’s words. The breath slips out of his lungs as if someone had swept them out. If he focused hard enough– he could still hear her voice whispering in his ear.

Even you, Ivar.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Ivar keeps his voice low and even as he presses out of the door.

* * *

He had been good. He did not force himself on you– he did not make you take another son and tell you that life was tough. No, he sat patiently hoping every night that you would surprise him. Every night it was the same thing… until tonight. At the table near the back of the hall, he held a meeting with those gathered. Little Uxi sat on his lap, fingers in his father’s plate while Veifnr was long past asleep.

Kitta’s plush chair beside him grows cold while you sit near Sverri. He busies himself with his son while you drink of Sverri’s horn and share talk of family life. How his newest bride was divorced because he could not get an old woman out of his head. Ivar sees a flash of jealousy caress your slight and beautiful features. That look only seems to worsen when Sverri’s chair screeches across on the floor. The foreign king makes a bark of protest when he’s suddenly face to face with a buttery blonde, hair braided back and brilliant eyes glistening mischievously as she straddles him.

Kitta.

Ivar feels his heart tighten as Kitta mounts him, long legs draped over his hips and the red of her skirt bunched around her core. Ivar knows from the second he saw his first wife’s mischievous smile what this was. A shit show– to make him jealous.

“Queen… Kitta.” Sverri’s hands jerk up near his armpits to avoid touching her. Immediately he looks to you as your eyebrows raise, goblet at your lips. Sverri knows by the look of disapproval spilling over your features that you are as displeased as Ivar; whose head is craning sharply at Kitta whose lips that run across the expanse of Sverri’s pale neck. She could have any king she wanted. Any king BUT Sverri.

“This isn’t what it looks like…“ He curses just as she brings his hands down over the bend in her waist. He snaps his hands back just as quickly once more.

“Oh now it isn’t? That isn’t what it was last night.” Kitta mocks, plucking Sverri’s chin up so casually that you immediately question the validity of Sverri’s statement. Even Ivar who spent much of last night alone, considers it. However it might look, Sverri knows that he’s never given you a reason to doubt his devotion to you. Despite the brides he tried to take when you both were younger and stupider. His one he just divorced would be his last.

“You are a liar.” Sverri snarls through interlocked teeth. “I swear by the gods that I would rather abstain then be forced to fuck you.”

As he snarls his words out, Kitta pulls back and looks to Ivar with a small offended gasp out of her lips.The crowd of kings roars in their laughter. Be a man, Sverri! They say. But he isn’t sympathetic. His eyes are sharp and unresponsive to her long, fluttering lashes. Suddenly you stand, shoving Kitta off of Sverri. The Queen falls onto the wooden boards of the floor– and some kings cackle as you dare shame Ivar further. Lifting your skirts past the laces of your shoes, over your knees and towards your mid thighs, you straddle Sverri’s quivering form.

“My lady princess…” Sverri begins to reach for your face when you knock his hands off. Two sole fingers glaze under Sverri’s chin at his table, tipping his head in your direction. He rests his hand on your thick hips, his armband sliding down with a rattle. The room falls into a hush with the eyes of many watching-- a married, bred woman bonding with a foreign king. A sight that had not been seen. No, Ivar was far too aggressive of you for that.

“Do you know that Ivar offered to bring you to our bed?” You ask, ale puffing off of your full lips. “And you betrayed me.”

The foreign king inhales sharply. “No… I would never.” Sverri grunts. Your hips undulate on him, causing him a great deal of discomfort. He is hard– and it was only getting worse when you slip your mouth against his neck, littering him with hot splotching marks like those he only dreamed of. His eyelids shut over those deep emerald eyes. A sharp breath exhales and his eyes open, rolling around to see Ivar’s hand is shaking so violently, he tips his ale. Kitta has picked herself off the ground, reaching to take Ivar’s arm.

“Get off.” He yanks out of her grip, setting Uxi down. The small child is led off by Ragnhild.

“My lady– they’re watching.” Sverri complains.

“So let them watch.” You pull back, hands stroking his nape. “It isn’t like I am anything but a womb for Ivar. Lady concubine– that’s what they should have called me. And you should have called me a fool.”

Sverri inhales as you loosen his overtunic, soft hands drifting up the muscles of his torso in a glide of your fingers. It feels good, but he knows better than to take advantage of a drunken woman. What if you did not really want him? What would the gods have to say? Then your hands shift down, slipping down to grasp his length. As opposed to with Kitta, when his dick wanted nothing more but to curl in on itself; having your silken hands touching him– actually touching him, makes his cock spring to life.

“I would never betray you. I only want to fix this for you.” Sverri groans, glancing across the table where other kings sat. Some kissed their goblets while others drew their eyes across the exposed skin flashed for them to see, leaning up over the table to watch.

The meal starts to feel more and more spoiled. Kitta’s blatant outburst against a man you claim as yours– the only relief you got from Ivar’s shit and his affection? It was spoiled as Kitta claimed him just like she claimed everything. Sverri’s eyes pled with you when the bad went to worse.

“By all means, King Sverri.” Ivar hisses, bringing his cup up to his lips. He sips of it then slams it down with a clatter as he clings his hands as if to point at him. “Eat my food, sleep in my bed and fuck my women. They’re dying to have you.”

Your hand left Sverri’s arousal– and so did your eyes, whipping around to look at Ivar as Sverri fell quiet. He made no moves to touch you and in a way, that was what pissed Ivar off further. Sverri incites nothing. He sits there… like a mere boy. No Viking would have rejected his woman’s advances.

“What? Is this wife not to your standards? Because I can always find her another man to take your place I assure you. I have had offers (Y/N). King Sweyn, Is that what you want?” Even Kitta can’t believe what she heard from her husband’s lips. He slams his palm flatly on the table just as you turn to him.

“I am your wife. Not cattle.” You snip. The other kings around the table are silent, looking in between one another. If Kitta wanted you united, that semblance was gone now. Ivar was left with a beating headache that pulsed down his spine to make his bones ache. He could trust neither of his wives now. It turned his stomach to churn with the knowledge that he was truly alone.

“Ivar.” Kitta interjects as you lift off of Sverri to chuck a cup in Ivar’s direction. It misses, but of course, it coats his pinned down hair in sticky booze.

“Shut up.” He snaps down to her– and this time, she is quiet.

“I’m not your possession!” You hiss out, finding that Ivar would take up his crutch, limping toward you. He grasps your wrist, yanking you along with him towards your room. You don’t fight him. What was the point anymore?

“You weren’t.” Ivar says. “Because I loved you.”

And you loved him.

You don’t say anything as he pulls you into the room, hanging off the edge of his crutch. His eyes are sharp and hurt– both wives betraying him at once. It would have been one thing to be in privacy. He could have dealt with it. But no, it was in front of Kings and warriors. His wives would look wild, insatiable and worst of all, the men would think it was him that was the one that had done it. That he couldn’t please his wives!

“Undress.”

You stare as if you couldn’t believe he would ask you for such a thing. You tensely obey when Ivar smacks your ass with a hard, rippling slap– causing you to buckle forward a bit. As you undress, Ivar forces you down onto his bed. There’s nothing romantic about the way he climbs over you. He loosens his pants above you, sloppily and desperately shoving them down his ass.

“Ivar, stop it! Talk to me.” You complain, shrieking as Ivar shoves his hard dick into your cunt. You dig your head into the sheets as Ivar thrusts harshly, each thrust a little more forceful than the last. It aches– the slight slick of Sverri’s excitement isn’t enough to lubricate you for such a rough intrusion.

“Why would you betray me? Why would you touch him?” He groans in your ear, dragging your hands back behind your back. He holds them folded against the bend in your back, pounding through your cunt. You can sense he’s nearing his end quickly. It always happens when he’s angry– his moans are ragged and shaky. His hips move desperately and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if you feel good or bad or otherwise, he’s just so desperately hurt. Beads of his tears drip wet and cold over your back.

“Please pull out…” You whisper, forehead against pillows.

“No.” He grunts behind you– “You’re going to have another.”

“You’re just upset Ivar!” You shout, set by Ivar’s quick thrusts. One, two and three powerful ones send Ivar’s thick seed through your walls. He moans out his orgasm, pushing himself to the hilt when you feel him lose himself in your walls. He fills you a few more times after that, raging against your ass until he has nothing left to give you. But as he rolls off of your body, clenching the furs with a snarling shout, you hear two little words between self deprecating words.

“I’m sorry.”

The frustration that he couldn’t hold his anger or spite without losing it and that he used it against you like this causes him grief. No matter what he told himself– he knew what he had done. He forced himself upon his very own wife, planted his seed in your womb as quickly as his body would allow and bred you. He wanted to say something when you rolled over to look at him buried deep in the furs. You have no words to say of what just happened– drowned out by his screams. Most of all, you knew what he thought. What sort of man was he to force himself on his wife?


	16. Prologue XV: He Has Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sverri leaves Kattegat just as a storm brews. Maybe he should have stayed.

He doesn’t dare show his face in your rooms again. No… Ivar hadn’t. He gave you freedom– especially today. As you say goodbye to Sverri, with tears hot in your eyes, the foreign king has you close despite the rigidity of your body in his arms. In his eyes, you thought he had slept with Kitta and there was nothing he could do to change that. You stand on the edge of Kattegat’s pier with your stomach churning in disrepair. You have the strangest feeling that it would be a long, long time until you saw your friend again.

“Sverri?” Your head lays flat against his firm chest.

“Yes.” He answers you with a small unintentional smile. “What is it?”

“…Ivar…” You stop, deciding quickly not to tell him what Ivar had done. How he made you take his seed in your womb with no choice. No, if you could keep a hard face, you would. What would he do if he knew? “…I’m pregnant.”

Sverri sways in the wind that buckles his ship. The news falls heavy on his mind as the last time he was told, you abstained from sex with Ivar. Somehow that news made him happy– and this news? It sickens him. Why would you have sex with Ivar? Your sniffling against the slit of chest causes him to lean back. Those bright eyes shines sweetly like the purest of gems.

“You are sure you don’t want to come with me?” He suggests. You laugh mirthlessly, your hand at his chest now as you look into his glow bright eyes. Somehow you didn’t even need to say no. He already knew– despite the fact that he so desired to save you from this.

“Friend to friend? I know you didn’t sleep with her.” You say with a sway.

“Friend to friend?” He asks, laughing as he drops his head back. Yes, friend to friend. “Friend to friend, I know you have to stay with him. I’ll be back. I’ll fix it for you, (Y/N).”

“If you only could.” You spare him one last glance, knowing that Ivar had not welcomed him back next year. You reach up to kiss his cheek before your feet bounce off the planks for the home you never wanted. Even if you hadn’t seen Sverri’s hand stroking the place where he was kissed— Ivar had. You came back to his side as he sits waiting for the ships begin to depart. Sverri’s sail raises the high sail of Yggradsil and the king would hop onto his boat, waving as you blew him a smooth kiss and a wave. Sverri mocks a catch of your kiss, yelling “Goodbye!”

“You didn’t tell him what I did.” Ivar knows. He knows because if Sverri had been known, he would not have been sailing away. He would take up his sword– he would try to kill him. Ivar would not have blamed Sverri either. It was unforgivable.

“No.” You say, hand at your belly as you glance to little Uxi by Kitta’s side. You reach out for Veifnr, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Hvitserk stands lazily with Ragnhild undoubtedly waiting for this conversation to end.

“Because I’m with another child.” You turn your head down to Ivar. His face is tense as if he wants to be sick but does not deserve the luxury to be. He looks to your stomach, stretching out to rub over it’s slight swollen expanse. His fingers are shy and keep away from a firm touch.

“Are you keeping it?” He asks. He thought he knew his gentle wife. In the same breath he needed to give you the choice. It had to be of your lips, not his.

“Of course I’m keeping it.” You turn your face to glare at him— causing him to squeeze his lips tight. Of course his wife was keeping the baby… why would she not? He only forced you into this. Ivar bobs his head in a nod under Kitta’s heated glare.

“I wouldn’t.” Kitta scoffs. “You shouldn’t either.” You glance down to your belly and Veifnr’s moppish hair that sits against it. As Sverri’s sails cut into the distance, you turn away from her while the sun cuts past the fjord in a sea of blue.

“Then it is good that you cannot have his sons.” You sweep away, leaving Ivar with an amused grin. Yes… it was good indeed.

Kitta’s lips turn foul.

* * *

Your screams haunt him. Burning screams rip from across the hall where he lay in warm furs with Kitta. They chill his bones as he sat up, a sclera piquing a darker blue than usual. It has been a while since he broke a bone— but he feels it coming on in the tingle of his digits. Kitta grumbles in bed while drawing her blanket over her naked breasts.

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Her words are thick with sleep but as spiteful as the woman he slept with every night. Ivar fetches the spikes under the bed while ignoring Kitta to carry onward to find you.

It had only been months since you were impregnated by him, but you are wracked with pain. Ragnhild rushes by Ivar with a damp cloth as you cry out on the plush furs, propped up by your forearms. Your legs are spread, toes curling on the bed. As he approaches the side— he finds that Hvitserk was sitting wordlessly beside your torso. Ivar thought he ran him off and yet it failed miserably.

“(Y/N).” Ivar drags himself around the bed, broad arms on your furs when you caught sight of him past sticky curtains of your sweat slicked hair. A burning ache between your legs keeps you awake despite the moon that stood taut high in the black sky.

“You! You! Go awaaaay Ivar!” You wail out. Such pains that soak through your body he’s never heard before. In labour, you bore pain so well that it made him proud. You would work through the pain with dignity-- but your cheeks are sopping wet with tears, streaming down full cheeks to your jawline.

“I’m not leaving.” Ivar says stubbornly. “Are you miscarrying?”

You wrack out a cry. “Nooo. I wish I was because then it would stop!”

Ivar watches as your hands cradles your stomach; rocking side to side in obvious disarray. He reaches over to stroke your temples, stroking away wispy strands of hair away from your pained features.

“Breathe.” Ivar says steadily. It was hard to relax with Ivar in the room but knowing you aren’t alone when Ragnhild sets the cloth on your forehead is better. She strokes your stomach with a genuine smile– the daughter you never had but wanted so deeply. More and more you would force yourself to relax until finally, some semblance of calmness lessens the pain from your constricted limbs. They finally loosen enough that the pain of your womb releases its tense hold.

“There is something wrong with this child. I’ve never had these pains.” You turn your head to face Ivar. The bed rocks as Ivar hikes himself up, and Hvitserk makes himself scarce, sleeping in the bed he dragged into your room ever since these pains began to take a hold on you. He turns away, messy brunette hair over his pillow as he rests again.

“The gods are punishing me.” Ivar pulls his legs up.

“They should.” You bite. “You disrespected me. Frigg knows what you did.”

Ivar lifts his hand up to your cheeks, rubbing away stray tears that leave a crystalline shine on your cheeks. You flinch away from his touch, causing a longing to spread over the pads of his fingers. He was losing you– a day at a time.

“But I don’t know why they must punish me with you.” You whine. The wave of pain seems to eviscerate for the night, his hand on your stomach and wispy white smoke from Ragnhild’s pot filling the room.

“They know the hearts of men. It causes me pain to hear you like this.” Ivar makes the mistake of saying. You lash out against him with a hissing of your tongue.

“You don’t lie to me.” You hiss. “You don’t care if I’m in pain. Just so long as I do not make noise. Kitta can humiliate me, you can ignore my needs and– I don’t know why I tell you this. It changes nothing. You are without guilt.”

Ivar lays with his hands over his stomach as you go on and on– giving him just your mind on how he does not care. His eyes glaze shut, thick digits tapping on your stomach until finally you stop. He glances over to find your eyes sliding shut, lips pursed as if you were pouting.

“But I do regret. I regret raping you.” Ivar shudders the words in a breath. Ragnhild seems to tense, bringing a pitcher of water over to you to drink. After you drink of it she sets it aside and you tell her to go to bed. “…and I regret calling you my womb. I am sorry for these things.”

It had been over a year in the making. These are the words that you desired to hear from your husband’s lips– and yet, you despise the fact that he said them now. “Sometimes,” A breath as you turn away from him. “Sorry is not enough.”

You needed to see his actions.

* * *

Like usual, it was officially Kitta’s four days when you fell into labour.

Your body succumbed to an awful pain that morning and so had his. His legs had cracked something nasty, but like any man, he held quiet about the ache. You on the other hand made quite the noise.

“Does she have to be so loud?” Kitta is by your door, peering in as you sob so painfully, so angrily. There is a reason that you had such pains. You had almost been labouring for a day and the pushing was not going well.

“You would not know if she has to be so loud, you are barren.” Ivar says, sitting on the opposite side of the doorframe. You pushed him out– demanding that he stay away. In his place, Hvitserk holds your leg to your chest. Ragnhild stands on the other side as the midwife tsked.

“The child is not the right way.” The midwife fumbles with something. “He is caught.”

Ivar wants nothing but to be at your side as he always was when you delivered his sons. This time– he knows that it is better to have Hvitserk by your side. His brother pats your face with a moist towel just as another contraction has you pushing tiredly. The fatigue takes you over and finally the midwife decides to intervene. And finally there is a cry– but its stifled, laboured. The midwife gasps, glancing over to Ivar. The king turns into the doorway.

“What?” Ivar hisses crawling over to her. You drop your head back lazily– eyes so tired that you could hardly keep them open. The midwife stutters with her words, cleaning the boy and wrapping him in a thin creamy cloth.

“My king…” She starts, bending down on one knee to look at Ivar. “He has your eyes.”

As she lowers his son down, he realizes that its not his eyes as sharp as lightning that she is motioning to. No, this little boy is marked by a sclera tinged in blue, just like his. Ivar shoots his hands up to take his son, desperately unraveling the thin creamy cough. The little boy has small, bowed legs and a small chest.

He knew what this was.

He was Ragnar’s monster and this little boy? He was his.


	17. Prologue XVI: My Mother's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uxi, defender of his brothers, is sick of standing by while his sweet mother is abused.

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/fc3608a9e370c7391e387f150419e040/tumblr_inline_pbbsnvTgyk1v19l0n_500.jpg)

Uxi nurses a fat welt on his cheek and blood that spills down his cracked nose. Blood down his lip as he sat on a rock brooding with Veifnr at his side. He had been in another fight and Kitta had yet become aware to it. Once his second mother was, he was sure that she would come lecture him about picking fights if he could not end them. He had to train… for you, for his mother. The public may have put on a good face when you were around, but he knew what they really thought about you. They were a bunch of fucking rats.

_“Fuck, look at her ass!”_

That fight resulted in a punch to the cheek.

_“Your mother gave birth to a monster HAHAHA!”_

That fight resulted in a punch to his stomach.

_“Your father can do whatever he wants to her.”_

That fight resulted in the swelling under his eye, purple and hot.

_“She’s just there to brew babies, you know.”_

And that fight? It resulted in his broken nose.

His mother wasn’t a womb. Rape was unacceptable here. So why was it acceptable if women married? He spat off to the side, meddled with blood and clear fluid while Veifnr walks back and forth in front of him. He was mute. He wouldn’t speak to him but in his eyes, he knew that he was asking: Are you okay?

But he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. He felt hopeless like a pathetic son. He heard his mother in physical anguish the past year— and overheard his other mother Kitta and mother speaking. Father had forced himself on his beautiful mother. He was old enough to know what it meant. He forced her to have another baby. It sickened him.

But overwhelmingly? He was just angry. So blindingly angry that he didn’t know what to do with it. His mother was in pain– and he could do nothing for her. What kind of man would he grow to be if he couldn’t take care of his own mother!

Now he hadn’t seen her in a week. He knew she was okay but he heard her sobbing… and his brother shrilling so loud that it buckled the Great Hall. No one was drinking in there lately. He strolls back to his home when he hears it— and sees it. Veifnr and he sneak behind the dividing wall of their mother’s room where father and mother were. He clutches his little brother close against his bloody brown tunic.

“He can’t breathe. He can’t sleep. He can’t even eat without you holding him upright!” His mother is sobbing again, the tails of her skirts drifting side to side. She was walking like she did when she was scared or didn’t want to talk to him. He saw his father’s legs dangling in a chair as he bent low as to not be detected.

“But I love him.” She sobs. “I can’t… I can’t.”

“He will die painfully. He will smother to death.” His father says. “We have to do it.”

“Your mother wouldn’t let Ragnar kill you. Now you want me to do the same?” Mother supplies, finding that Ivar is momentarily silent. Uxi realizes what father means quickly. The village people set babies out for the animals, chopped off their heads or dealt with them in other ways. His father wanted to do the same to his innocent little brother.

“I was different. I could eat. I could breathe.” His father’s voice is a hush whisper and his poor mother— she’s exhausted. He can hear it the way she sobs harder, now stopping in front of Ivar as she takes a weak and wavering breath.

“But… I don’t want to let him go. He’s my son.” She sobs and little Uxi; so enraged by his mother’s sobs bursts into the room. Veifnr doddles after him, the young little thing watching silently as Uxi’s leather boots storm over to where Ivar and you spoke.

“Leave her alone!”

You whip around to find your son shoving himself in with Veifnr by his side. Your arms were full with the nameless boy. Swaying to sit upright, Ivar’s eyes catches Uxi’s own electric eyes. They dance with rage like Thor’s beating hammer as he stands in front of you, hands outstretching to push you back behind him. Almost as if he thought he needs to protect you from his father.

“My love… I’m okay.” You try to curve him but your stubborn son won’t have it. He won’t have any of this bullying talk. How you raised a son so independent amazes you. When he loves, he loves with a love that is so hard.

“You’re nothing but a coward!” Uxi bursts out. “Leave my brother alone!”

You could have curled in on yourself. As you look to Ivar’s hooded blue eyes, you realize that Ivar is bewildered. Uxi has never done this before. Usually he is quiet, faithfully believing in his father. Your heart falls in your stomach when Ivar stands up with crutch in hand. He hobbles over to his eldest; chubby cheeked but otherwise slender. He leans in while you held Veifnr’s hand fearfully. Would he hit Uxi?

“Come see.” Ivar says, motioning for you to kneel. You slip onto the ground in your creamy gown, arms full of your newest son. You unpeel the warm furs away from the little boy, whose legs are bowed and worthless to see. His chest rises and drops harshly as if he is having trouble breathing— even when he is quiet now, he will scream from the pain shooting down his legs later. Uxi looks over his gentle face, sleeping in his mother’s arms despite the yelling between Ivar and you. He must have been exhausted.

“Your brother can’t breathe Uxi. He is in pain.” Ivar sighs. As you heard, Ivar was in pain too before a man called Harbard came to Kattegat. You wish he would come for your son. You would do anything for someone to alleviate his pain. Even if it meant selling yourself out to another man at this point.

“But…” Uxi looks over his chest. His father was right… but to know that his mother was so distressed? It broke his heart. “Mother should choose since you gave her no choice!” 

As if the decision wasn’t hard enough already without Uxi looking at his father in a new light. Not the marvel, but the hate. At only eight years of age, too. You stand up, pushing the baby’s dark hair from his forehead. You knew it was selfish; but you couldn’t let him go.

“What should we call him?” You look to your husband. As the father, he had rights to name all the children just as he had Uxi. But when you give him his son, Ivar looks nothing short of lost. He had yet to give this boy a name or his rights as a Ivarsson. He had to do so soon. The people of Kattegat were beginning to speak as to why Ivar wouldn’t claim this son as his. After all, cripple legs made it hard to deny that the boy was his. He can’t bear name a son that he cursed.

“Uxi. You name him.” Ivar looks to Uxi. The older of the brothers, he had protected his brother from Ivar’s mercy kill. Me? Uxi looks to you. You nod, kneeling beside Ivar and leaning over his lap to look at the little boy.

“Avaldr.” He says. A name that he knew meant both awe, terror and mighty one. It’s a strong name and in a way, that is what this little boy needs. Something to set him apart. You smile to your oldest and most bullheaded son, extending your hands out to embrace him. 

That starts to sound like a very handsome name to you.

* * *

Sometimes– things happen that you aren’t prepared for: like the arrival of this strange, wild looking old man.

“This is my wife, (Y/N).” Your husband’s hand is about your waist. You cling onto your son, a forced smile on your lips standing behind Uxi and Veifnr. This man was bizarre. The way he hovers lowly, fingers twiddling as if there are stars in front of his eyes and the way that he giggles as he flickers his fingers most excitedly against Veifnr’s nose. He kneels before your boys.

“And what is his name?” The strange man asks. Veifnr’s fingers come without fear to the runes that curl in a strip along his shaved head.

“Veifnr.”

Another giggle and the man looks delightfully at Veifnr. “Why he doesn’t have your eyes. Or yours. What a lucky boy.” He points out. You’re not entirely sure who the hell he is to tell you that. Kitta comes to join the rest of your tiny family.

“Hello Floki.” She says. Floki pulls back from Veifnr, arching as he looks at the reigning queen. They’ve met before. You can tell by the look over his face. Distaste.

“Kitta. You’re still here.” Floki says swaying.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” The Queen says.

Floki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes. Now come with Floki.” He motions to Veifnr, showing him his swift boat. Veifnr wordlessly doddles after and despite how worried you are, you let him go. You’ve never seen your little boy so excited. He makes soft little huffs of excitement, hands squeezing and releasing as Floki loads him onto his lone one man boat.

“He’ll be safe with Floki.” Ivar leads you closer. Floki had come to see Ivar after word spread of how the son came to fruition. How his two wives fought over another king and the anger that snapped Ivar into two. He seems pulled together now– but colder. Floki took Veifnr cuts through the waters, showing him bits and pieces of his boat while the boy followed him with nothing short of delight. Eventually they came back ashore and your little boy would bounce to the edge of the boat. You wave to him as he giggles richly and waves back to you from on top of the boat.

“Ma! The boat!” He says– and your face snaps to Ivar. Six years later, you finally have the first words from your son. Ivar doesn’t both to restrict the small smile pulling his lips as Floki and Veifnr drop to the planks of wood that you all stand on.

“Let us see.” Floki flickers his fingers as you hand him Avaldr. His breathing was still harsh and raspy, even months later. It is clear that it isn’t getting better. You gingerly hand off your son to him. Floki examines the boy in your arms. His face is mixed in emotion– but the worst of it is the kohl on his eyes that accentuate those blown wide pupils, eyes shifting to Ivar.

“He looks like Gyda.”

* * *

“We are keeping him?” Kitta stands over the little boy in the bassinet. He has his sharp blue eyes open, staring at the ceiling while taking rasping breaths. You came to Kitta’s side, leaning in to press a kiss against his forehead.

“Yes, I am.” You answer.

The Queen hums in acknowledgement. “He is cute.” She says as she walks around the room. Kitta has been strange as of late. Quiet and pensive, less prone to outbursts. You knew that once the newness of Avaldr wears off, she will be back to yelling at you.

“He took you instead that night.” She inevitably says. “Why is that?”

He meant the night that Avaldr was conceived. The night that Ivar made you take his seed and the night that no one questioned him for. Why? Because he was your husband. If you had been courting or friends, it would have been different. Everyone would look to crucify Ivar. Instead, no one was… especially not when they found out how you lacked to see to Ivar’s sexual appetite for you.

You should have known better than to tell the gods you would not have an Ivarsson. They had a cruel manner of showing you that they chose who gave birth to who. You walk back to finish caring after your bed linen– a bed that was cold without Ivar there. He became distant. Too ashamed to see you, too sorry to convince himself to lay in your bed. It served him right. You hope the gods followed his conscious for what happened to Avaldr. He needed to learn that he could not do this. Not to you, not to anyone.

“He wants to own me. Just like you want to own him.” You say, tucking a snowy fur Sverri gave you neatly against the bed. It was exceptionally warm when Avaldr and you cuddle late at night. Kitta stops at your words-- knowing that yes, you knew. You rise up to stand straight as she crosses the furs to look down into your eyes.

“You don’t understand.” She says. “He is mine. And what his is mine– the boys and you.”

She thinks you want to fight over your husband now? After what he had done? You flick your fingers against her cleavage to push her back, finding an annoyed frown on your lips. Kitta wanted to keep you under her fingers. To enjoy your body, to have your body give her the children she could not and keep you in place. You knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to control you. For more babies? You say nothing because as far as you are concerned, your fate is tied up with Ivar. Until the seer hinted otherwise, you are stuck here.

“I think it’s better you left.” You leave her side. Confident with your submission, Kitta leaves you between your head and hands, thinking about what just happened. You were used to fighting over Ivar. That was familiar, sure. Perhaps you knew that she wanted to be the sole mother to the boys. But her blatant claim that you too were hers?

That… was strange.


	18. Prologue XVII: Strange Shores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking a cure, Ivar takes his young family to new shores.

“Floki wants to do what?”

You can’t believe what you are hearing from your husband whose hand is permanently affixed to his ale as if it’s a second breath. He has a clouded look to his eyes as if he is far past drunk. The sight was recurrent many nights. The older that Uxi, Veifnr and Avaldr had gotten, the more that he seems to lose himself in his drink when not busy with things of a kingly or Viking nature. His sticky palms rip across the pitcher that he nurses.

“Take him. Mother and he raised me. He can raise Avaldr.” Ivar sets the pitcher down to his drink, the sticky fluid dripping down the edge of the cup when he missed just so much.

“You are not shipping away my son with Floki!” You snap, finding that Ivar would snap back just as heatedly.

“He has NOTHING here! With Floki, he has a chance. A chance to know the gods and find strange medicine that we cannot offer.” He realizes that you’re leering at him hatefully, as if you despise his very existence, so he drinks harder. The headache wells in the frontal part of his head because this is beginning to be too much for him to handle.

“He wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t raped me! It is your fault!” You snarl out. Ivar thrusts his cup across the room, spilling over the stairs to his throne.

“I know that!” Ivar makes you buckle back by the shrill of his voice. “I am trying to save him! What have you done but blame me?”

You fall silent. “He is not going with Floki. He is staying here. Find another way.”

You didn’t want Ivar to put him down. You didn’t want Ivar to give him to Floki for a chance at life. Ivar holds his forehead in stress. What other option was there for him to take? He could search out a healer for his son– have Hvitserk go out.

But would the healer be good enough for you?

“You limit my options at every turn.” He rasps. “He is only worsening as he grows. He has no strength to crawl. I am running out of time.” He hisses.

Of course you knew that. You wanted to find an option— but one viable for you to go with. If you could not go with him, you feared him coming back dead. He was over a year now and Floki’s runes curved his pain. Truly that was all you could ask for, but if you were being honest, you wanted more.

“Lets go together with Floki on an expedition. Kitta can stay.” Ivar says– and you agree.

You wanted him happy and healthy.

* * *

It had been a long, long time since you had been on a boat. Avaldr insists on dragging himself where he can with what little strength is left in those brittle bones. The boat is swift, cutting through the foreign waters with a creak of the sail whipping in winds. Uxi stares out of the little boat towards the horizon where nothing but dark waters lay.

“Where are we going?” Uxi asks. He looks to the men that pull the oars swiftly through the waters. A fleet was behind them, flying Ivar’s brilliant red colours through the slapping of cloth.

“Where the gods take us, Uxi.” Floki loiters around the neck of the boat, sitting there and waiting patiently. You shudder underneath a dark blue cowl, reaching out to pick up Avaldr to rest despite a short lived flail.

“We should hope that Ran and Njord will deal with us kindly.” You say, knowing Ran’s often dark intent on drowning sailors to join her in her kingdom below. The waters had hardly been still, however, and the winds harsh, pushing you out toward unforeseen lands.

Veifnr loiters beside Floki, occasionally looking to see if you were safe. The days become longer and longer– and little Avaldr becomes more and more fatigued. Eventually though, something catches Floki’s eye. He prances across the boat to Ivar, whispering something in his ear.

“What is it?” You move beside Ivar. He glances over to you, pointing out to the small beads that compose a small island.

“Land.” He motions.

The land was unlike anything you had ever seen before. The grass was high, proving hard with your heavy skirts and Ivar’s crutch. Uxi cut down the grass before him, revealing bunches of deep yellow, creamy white and the deepest of burgundy flowers that were littered by little spots here and there. They curled beautifully, so much so that little Avaldr would point eagerly to them in order for you to take him over.

“Flower.” You say to him– and like the witty little boy he was: he leans over to sniff the flower, batting it lightly. You place a kiss to his flat dark hair that lays flat against his nape.

“This does not look like England.” Ivar remarks, pleased to find a new land with new magic.

“It is somewhere new.” Floki agrees. Ivar calls you back by his side, Veifnr trailing behind you with his sword apart. Ivar’s men fell around him. As green as this place was, there was no way to be sure of others inhabiting it. With that thought, he couldn’t be more right as the hot sting of an arrow blazing beside you was only one of many.

“Shield wall!”

You gave a small shriek, covered by Ivar’s fleet of soldiers guiding you back to the middle where Ivar snarls out his orders. You account for Veifnr and Uxi, clustering around you while Ivar hisses in frustration. It was different when he was alone– easy to make hard decisions that might mean a portion of his men going to Valhalla. But his young family was here caught in the crosshairs.

“Stay close.” Ivar hisses, flicking his leather wrist toward the men that turn to look at him for answers. You nod– of course, with Faksi as a father you were well accustomed to the constant threat of war. The strangers outside shrill darkly and inside, Ivar bellows suddenly. The Vikings break and your younger boys keep in line with you through the ambush of strange men with rich skin and jagged weaponry. Quick footed as you quickly learn, spear hurling past Ivar– and through two men to pin them to a large tree. Your husband is laughing maniacally by their weak attempts to slay him.

 

The Viking warriors quickly learn to keep in line and eliminate them as a pack, one after another. It’s a slow pursuit that promptly quickens when you hear a familiar shrill. Above the hill you find your largest of surprises. A hail of arrows leaves Ivar slamming onto the ground, jerking you against him with a bloody shield raised high. Despite the wailing against your breast, a hush silence spills over the battle ground. His boys– he has to find his boys.

“Shh, I’ll protect you.” Ivar cooes. Then, Ivar thrusts the shield off, checking over Avaldr then you. Minimal scratching. Wordlessly he drags himself through marshy greens in search for his other sons. “It took you long enough, Faksi!” He bellows.

“Just enough!” Your father jumps down from his hill with a bellowing laugh, helping you onto your feet. He finds his boys just as a wailing sob broke. You quickly realize isn’t from any of the soldiers that rake across the battlefield snuffing out life.

“Uxi?” You call. Uxi hisses on the ground, jerking an arrow out of his calf and covering it with his hand. Underneath him, Veifnr lays in catatonic shock. His eyes move about the men that come to Uxi’s side. Sensing his father’s presence, Uxi stubbornly tries to hold in his screams. He knows that his father expects better of him. What any Viking man would expect out of him.

“Baby!” You drop to the ground beside him, patting down the puncture wound with your cowl that keeps little Avaldr warm. You blot away the blood and cradle his cheek, hushing his cheek with smooth kisses.

“I did a stupid.” Uxi says loudly with a little bit of a cry. The tears bite the side of his cheeks and he pushes himself to stand, leg failing him and he falls over. Ivar limps over, drawing his hand over his face in a groan.

“Uxi the Stupid–” He chides.

“I’m not stupid!” Uxi snarls. “Veifnr freaked!”

Of course your little boy would be the one to take care of his brother. He would take care of anyone in his family. You shake your head as you look around to these bizarre foreign soldiers. Uxi’s leg would heal– Veifnr? You weren’t so sure. He slowly moved to sit, eyes unable to look at yours.

He hadn’t made his father proud.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers… and suddenly you’re not sure why you hadn’t left him with Ragnhild. It occurs to you why. He couldn’t be without you. He crawls over to your side, young and small but such a bright little boy. You knew he was where everyone else doubted him. He was just… young. He needed help.

“What do we do now?” Uxi asks as Faksi comes over, hauling him up onto his broad shoulder. Ivar drags himself around the corpses, searching out one man with the brightest of crystalline eyes. Ones that Ivar considers carving out and setting upon his throne as a prize.

“You came to take our jewels!” The man rasps, shaking with a bright staff held high. Ivar notes the staff made of stained white wood bears a large jewel at the top. Ivar flicks his dagger around his fingers, whizzing through the air. The thick tongue of this man spoke your tongue. Faksi joins Floki beside Ivar, arms crossed.

Ivar‘s tongue slickens his teeth. “Not this time. Only for a cure to my son’s ailment.”

He motions back to you. The sacred man throws a look to you, approaching Ivar’s side to show him the child in your arms. The last of the men from the slaughter offers up a light and weak smile, scattered by his lack of teeth as he looks to the child’s legs curled in painful knots.

“Yes.” He calms. “A child of change. Come with me.”  
The unpaved road to this town is aside of dark sands like the night sky. The beach is nearly charcoal black, but soft to the touch. There were homes of bizarre white rock carved into the jagged rocks. Ivar relied on his crutch a part of the journey, but eventually was forced to crawl beside your feet. A brilliant crystalline jeweled archway marks the entrance, etched with ragged script.

Al-Murtaza.

Hvitserk turns as he walks to marvel at the sight. The gems gleam so beautifully, pointing this way and that, reflecting light that catches his eye. As he catches back up to you, he flicks a broken and jagged piece of the crystal in his hand.

“I like it here!” Hvitserk laughs. Faksi breaks off, instructed to take the Uxi into a healer’s tent.

“It is pretty. I haven’t seen something so beautiful.” You supply, looking over to Ivar. He snuffs them— despite his men’s rowdy laughs from both women and jewels both. They flip skirts and drool over thin fabrics covering the women’s pure skin. To his goal these women mean nothing.

“Don’t get distracted, (Y/N). I’ve spoiled you enough.” Ivar says cooly, dragging himself a little harder in line with the shaman. You nearly hang your head when Hvitserk pats your shoulder.

“Is he like this on raids?” You ask him, working a smile over your face.

“Usually pretty stabby.” Hvitserk chides– you couldn’t imagine that.

It felt like you garbled rocks in your mouth as you try to make light of the whole thing, climbing up beside Ivar to the summit of the cliffs where a crystalline purple cave glitters. The man goes to address another elderly man inside the cave, toasted by the sun. He sits facing a vast wall of crystals that glow inhumanely like the work of the gods. If your mouth was slack, you knew Ivar’s was.

“Abba, this is Iv— King Ivar the Boneless, son of King Ragnar. Whose parents have gone with the gods.”

The old man sits in a finely woven wool rug upon the dirty floor, surrounded by crystals and threads that he works through his fingers. Ivar’s hairline is marked by a great line of sweat, tunic slick with the humidity of the oceanside town.

“He has five brothers, two past, and a sister Gyda who has also passed. He is married to an unmemorable woman Kitta, a failed shieldmaiden and wife.”

 _Enough._ Ivar hisses to the man. He pauses, setting down the threads woven tight. Then as he tightens his creamy wrap, he continues.

“But he is also married to Princess (Y/N) of Freyja, whom the gods love as dearly as they love you. Although you will love another, princess.” His eyes part, glossy and nearly white as he hovers in front of you. Another? Your heart drops to your stomach when Ivar’s head snaps to look at you, taking consideration of the words of the seer. A man who lived by the gods? A dangerous man indeed.

“But because of your jealousy of your brother Hvitserk and the doomed King Sverri… and negligence of all parents, this child,” The seer flips your blue covering over Avaldr, who wiggles with a sinfully sweet smile. “…will die a painful death this year.”

Trembling. Your whole body wracks with shakes looking to this man. “NO!” You shriek, eyes darting down to little Avaldr whose little eyes widen and lip quivers. A full out scream bounces off the crystal walls as you break out into an instant sob. “He’s innocent!”

You pull him back, the man’s eyes softening at you for a moment before Ivar hisses. “The gods haven’t turned their backs on us– what is there I can do?” Ivar suggests.

He has always been in the gods favour. Once he realized the power he could have, he used it. He always kept the gods in his memory, kept his mother’s and Floki’s teaching close to his heart. Floki stands aside with wide eyes– but even he knows it’s fruitless. Ragnar was punished with a cripple of a son while he was punished with his sweet Angrboda taken from him.

The man bends his hair, curtains of white encompassing his staff. “They’ve chosen punishment.”

“Curb the pain then.” Hvitserk speaks up– the only one as Ivar stares off as if something else has taken him over. Then, with his next words something snaps.

“No– now go away. You bring about a bad omen!”

As if thrust by a leash, you yank back to Hvitserk in sobs. But you hear something else, the thump of heavy weight and spray– all over little Veifnr who unfortunately chose to stand beside his father. Frantic motions of Ivar’s blade into the throat of the strange shaman soak a snowy white tunic to a curdling red-- and there isn’t even a gurgle out of the priest’s throat. Instead the room fills with a rippling scream, low at first that quickly shrills straight through your spine. You lurch forth, heart strumming hard, pulling Veifnr to you as he stares and stares, blood painting purple and blue crystal of the walls. It drips from Veifnr’s lashes.

“I WANT THEM ALL DEAD! ALL OF THEM!” His breath is thick and heavy, hand meeting his belt as a woman dashes for the door. His axe launches through the air, striking her in the head. She instantly drops with no life left in her flailing limbs. “Take no prisoners!” He hisses– lighting a firestorm within the room in which life would be snuffed out. One by one.

“Ivvv…. Ivv…”

Your words come out like the crystals breaking free of the roof, crashing to into a million little pieces as you stare with shock. The men in sword and shield beside you take after priest and priestess in this village. You had never once seen Ivar like this. In the time you knew him as an adult– he had tried to measure his responses. You never joined him outside of Kattegat on raids or were in a situation where he could not care for your safety.

Always, always he made sure you were cared for.

Or perhaps, he wanted to hide how much of a monster he truly was.

Your hand curls around Veifnr’s less than virgin eyes as his father finds his crutch, pulling himself to stand while his warriors flood the village. They pull out men, women and child alike. There’s a ringing in your ears of their screams. A slaughter you turn Veifnr away from, hands over his ears now and Avaldr close to your chest for what feels like hours. Until suddenly, a moist sticky hand takes your arm, pulling you up to your feet. You turn to find your husband– eyes clouded and face still dripping a thick crimson looks to you. Blood dribbles down onto the dusty floor, coating the short hairs of the side of his head and tightly rolled braids.

“Come,” His voice is low. “We’re taking Avaldr home.”

You didn’t have to ask to know. Below this hill lay a genocide below.


	19. Prologue XVIII: Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child death below.

Defeat.

Ivar wasn’t familiar with the word. He wasn’t defeated on the battlefield. No, of course not. The plunder of gold and precious gems along with whatever the dead had was enough to please the greediest of his men. But still, he arose defeated.

The nights were intense. Some days, Avaldr’s chest rose and fell harshly. Other days he could stop altogether. Tonight was a rare still night in your bed. Avaldr lay in between Ivar and you in bed as he had for months at that point. If he was going to die– he might as well die between his parents.

It burned him– Avaldr was going to die painfully. But you had taken the choice from him to off him himself. You lay on your hip, rubbing his forehead as he slept with the knuckle of your finger caressing him into his rest. Ivar lay with him upon his chest, the tips of Avaldr’s tangled up legs touching the beginning of his.

It was the closest you had been in years to him. Instead of his excitement for this though, his heart felt solemn and reserved for what was coming. His son was going to die and at the end of the year, he knew it would be soon.

“It’ll be soon.” Ivar tells you, head thrumming at his words. “Are you ready?”

You feel your heart stop in your chest and you suck in lungfuls of air debating what to say. A sigh falls from your chest. “I don’t think we’ll ever be.”

The thought of it made you want to slump over the floor. As hard as Ivar made himself, his breath came in small bursts that he greedily sucked in as if he couldn’t breathe. The dread pools inside of him at the thought of not just losing his child but garnering hard emotions from you. He knew what was coming. How you already blame him and would continue to blame him mercilessly.

You would soon hate him– and it made his heart cold.

* * *

You weren’t exactly there when it happened.

To be clear, you were walking back with your boys from a walk. You needed a walk along the beach to clear yourself. Uxi fishing with Veifnr and showing you the catch when Ragnhild’s feet hit the ground by you. Her pale skin flush with red heat– not knowing how to tell you when you all but saw it strewn across her face.

“He’s going to leave soon.” She says. Her eyes are wide blown, weak with tears that have itched her rosy cheeks.

“Ivar?” You leap onto your feet, forgetting that your boys were in the water when Ragnhild calls out to them. All your thoughts, the blood humming in your head and the fear of not being there when he passed boils in your brain.

“He’s with Avaldr. Queen Kitta.. She… didn’t pick him up with enough time. He couldn’t breathe and then…” Ragnhild huffs beside you, exhaling air harshly. “He sent her away.”

_He can’t breathe! Pick his ass up!_

_Why can’t you listen to me!?_

Those words are a foreign voice beating around your head. The words aren’t yours– they are Ivar’s. Your nails bite your palms, cracking open your skin with blood when you dug your heels through sand for your shared home. Kitta darkens the entrance with eyes so boiled red, she had been in a panic too. Part of you wants to slap her– but the other part knows, you spent the time you knew your son waiting for this moment. Unfortunately for her, you didn’t even acknowledge her as you walk inside of the space where Ivar was, trying to pin his son in place.

Tremors wrack through little Avaldr’s body from toe to the black tuft of hair on top of his head– he shook and twist on the bed under his fingers. Ivar tries and fails to still him, air expelling from his chest without enough coming back in. Vomit dribbles from the side of his face as his icy eyes catches yours. _Mama._ You can practically hear his sweet giggles and joyous regard for the water and flowers you brought back from the strange crystal land.

“Avaldr.” You choke out, running to his side. He gasps for air, short chest struggling and struggling as your hands shake trying to figure out what to do. The healers beside you share rune and staff both.

Nothing is working– nothing is willing air into his lungs or stopping Avaldr from thrusting himself despite Hvitserk’s pale hands cradling his head. “Don’t leave me, (Y/N). He needs you.” Your husband calls out to you, a stone cold face despite the tears that fall in a constant stream down his silent face. You glance down to Avaldr’s cyaniated lips,the hazy look falling over his face like a cloudy day and you lurch over Avaldr, hand at his cheeks. You steady yourself by pressing your head against his, nose touching the small button of his nose that took after his father’s. Terror and shock fights for your heart, but most of all, need.

You needed to be there for him. A stale whisper fell from your lips.

_Sleep, my little son. Sleep–_

_Up in celestial hills._

_Frigg will soon see you, Freyja is there to greet you._

_Our all-father Odin is there too._

_Sleep, my little son. Sleep,_

_For what is there to fear–_

_when your mother and father are near?_

The tremors begin to slip from his body– slowly at first as you repeat the chorus of the song and by and by, you feel him still. Enough that Ivar drags himself to hover over you as you pull back to look at the son you share with him. Altogether the brash forced breathing is gone, but more importantly, the fear in those eyes slips away with his very last breath.

Suddenly, there’s nothing left. With the wailing sob that slips off your lips toward Asgard above, you thrust yourself onto Ivar as Floki treads closer, searching for signs of life. Ivar’s arms wind about your back, holding you close. He doesn’t need to say it to know. His little boy is gone.

* * *

Life was quick and death was more so. It was the grieving that was hard. Your own, yes, but also that of your family’s own. Ivar threw himself into raiding and war, rarely giving himself time to think. You hardly saw him… but… you understood. Uxi was so seethingly angry that he cursed the gods. You were forced to take him to do a sacrifice for forgiveness. Veifnr dealt with it the only way he knew how, being silent. Most of all, it was Kitta who sought forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” She hisses one day. You look over to her as you fix yourself for the day, walking as if there was no love left in your bones. You look to her to elaborate when she looks toward the pressed flower you kept in your room. No other words needed. You force yourself to smile to the best of your ability.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You mumble despite the hissing of her lips.

“I was supposed to be watching him.” Kitta comes further into the room, the crown glittering atop her head so beautifully. You resent the fact that Ivar kept her as Queen for so long. Now, you were tired. You didn’t want to fight anymore. She could keep her ugly crown and most of Ivar’s love. It was too exhausting to fight her.

“You can’t take it back.” You moisten your lips, tightening the strings of your dress when she comes beside you, winding her hands around your waist. Your breath hitches in your throat, unable to speak when she kisses along the side of your face along your jaw. You hold yourself with your hands atop of hers.

“No, I can’t.” She says, breathing in your scent. “Thank you… for understanding.”

“What is it you want from me this time Kitta?” You ask her, looking to her foxish smile on her lips. Talking with her was more and more strained. As if it wasn’t awkward after she was cursed by you, now she makes it worse by becoming all the more creepy.

“I want to make sure you’re staying.” She pulls away, drifting toward your ear. “You’re just as much my possession as Ivar is.” Kitta whispers in your ear, causing a great discomfort to rip up your spine at her words. You aren’t sure if her falling sick had her crack her head on something. You were sure she hated you and yet now… now she was claiming you like her wife. A part of you was too exhausted to fight and quickly won out as opposed to fighting.

“Of course I’m staying.” You mumble when she forces you around. She catches your lips in a forceful kiss, pushing you back until you hit a wall. It was a show; Her way of dominating you. You knew as much by the hand slipping under your skirts.

“Kitta stop– I don’t want this.” You break the kiss and still her hand. She breaks her hand away, flashing you a light smile as she spins on her heel out of the door. Your chest burns as you watch her leave, slumping down the wall unsure of what just happened. You wondered if Ivar knew what had happened. She was making you into one of her things, like Ivar. A simple item that she had to possess.

Would he even care? In the end, you said nothing.

* * *

The days went on long as they were without Avaldr in your arms. Longer still when you realized no, you had no little one to chase anymore. No little boy rasping and heaving as had become second nature to you. It didn’t feel good. The Great Hall felt... empty. You hadn’t realized that your plate was completely full until Veifnr shook your shoulder, pointing to your plate.

“Ma.” He plucks up a fingerful of chicken, shoving it into your mouth. It felt dry and stringy against your tongue. “You need to eat.”

Right… eating. You swallow the chicken, picking around your plate when Ivar’s hand made its way onto your lap. You look up into his solemn blue eyes, ones that you felt you hadn’t seen in months. You saw him on your scarce weekends, growing quieter and colder as the months passed.

“Wife–” The word feels cold on your ears. Kitta has won. She has him all to herself most days.

“Yes?” You say.

“I grow tired of seeing you like this. I want to take you alone to go see the lights you wanted to see so much.” You catch a small fleeting glimmer of concern in his eyes. It’s different from a father, you suppose, than a mother. Ivar pulled away from everyone in his grief while you had yet to finish your own. The lights of many colours. Your father had called them that– and promised to take you one day. The allure has gone.

“But who will watch the boys?” You say knowing that it is your only hope to stay in Kattegat. You had yet to leave its shores in ten years for pleasure. Uxi is approaching his eleventh year. You tell yourself that you couldn’t go.

“Ragnhild will. So you will have no other excuses, will you?” You notice how he doesn’t entrust them to Kitta, their other mother. He tips up your chin, pouring the ale onto your lips from his horn.

“No Ivar.” You say with a flicker of sadness floating from your words like an ember. He ignores it as if you never spoke to him in such a way. Good, he says. You sigh, you supposed you were granted what you were wished for by the gods.

Your husband would be yours alone.


	20. Prologue XIX: What I Really Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar takes his wife on a trip.

Second wife will always be second best.

Kitta and he came to see these lights. He brought her to this cliffside first to gaze out at the colours that were so majestic and romantic. You only get scraps. That wasn’t to say that Ivar wasn’t trying– he brought himself up this cliff with his men, pulling himself through the cold so that his fingers were pulsing red when he finally breaches the top. You came to clear an area while Ivar’s men begin to pull the cargo within a villa. A portion of his large fleet was off to support an earl in his ambitions and as such the earl was supplying a warm place for Ivar to show you this beautiful sight.

Rolling hills, high trees that arched into the other realms, sure. But more importantly for Ivar is the oceanside view on the cliff. Here he could have you gaze up at the moon and admire the sky. 

However you take his efforts differently. You take this to mean your husband would be gone. Ivar would have to advise when he was called upon. You pull one of your husband’s thick furs around your shoulders before you dip down to help your husband up after such a long crawl. As another man lit a flame, you bring him to sit down and warm his hands.

“Are you cold?” You ask your husband. Ivar motions a thrall to fetch his dry furs, pulling them over his shoulders as he warms his hands. It’s his fault that he’s so cold, you think, the men offered to carry him.

“It’ll pass.” Ivar grumbles, running his hands together. While Ivar’s warriors fill the villa in which you would be staying, you’re reminded that you will spend your time in Ivar’s bed for months alone. There would be no children to run off with when he was frisky or a way to send him to Kitta. No, this was you and he alone. At the very least, you wouldn’t have to deal with Kitta’s advances anymore.

She confused you.

“Do you want to see it up close?” Ivar motions that there is a better area to see it from, where the long streaks of emerald green, wispy blues and hues of purple pop like Frigg weaved them just as she did the clouds. You could marvel at the sight of them– but instead, you hadn’t noticed the tears running down your cheeks until he wipes them from the underside of your jaw.

“(Y/N)–” He began when you jump up abruptly. He calls out to you. “Where are you going?!”

You only knew that you were going indoors where a thrall kindles a flame with wood left by the earl, heaving a heavy breath after heavy breath from your lungs. You couldn’t believe yourself– you were freaking out! The lights you had wanted to see for years were out there and here you were, collapsed on the bed. After some time, there is a heavy sigh beside you.

“I brought you here to see the lights. What is wrong?” Ivar sits beside you, leaning over to push your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want to be here.” You lash out, smacking his hand away. “I miss my boys, I miss my son and nothing is going to make that better! You can’t make that better with some shiny clouds on this stupid icy rock in the middle of NOWHERE!”

Ivar brings his hand back to his lap, reminding himself to calm down– don’t say something he didn’t mean. Not like last time, not like when he called you his womb. His nose scrunches up tight. “You wanted to come here and I made a you promise.” Ivar rolls his head slightly. “I did not bring you here to replace our son.”

He knows who you mean. Your little boy lost some time ago with nothing to fill the ache in your arms at all. You sit up as Ivar looks at you patiently, eyes scanning over you like snakes, slithering over your body.

“Tell me what I can do to make it better.” Ivar supplies. It was not as if he wanted a miserable wife. More so than Kitta, if you were miserable, Frigg would bring hell down upon him as well.

“I want another baby.” You say with a sob. Ivar’s whole demeanor changes. His body is tense when you ask such a thing of him, fingers even rigid. He can’t recall the last time you slept with him voluntarily. It had truly been a long time. He should have leapt at your words, but instead, his whole body feels as if its aching. If nothing else, he knows that sex with you would result in a beautiful child.

But what if the gods weren’t appeased?

What if all the sacrifices he made, the conquest of Christians and feasts in their honour had not reached their ears?

Worst of all, what if he had another son delivered back into their arms?

In the same way, how can he deny you, looking so heart broken with tears streaming down your soft, ice kissed cheeks? He couldn’t. Ivar struggles with words a while longer before he concedes to your will.

“If you will come with me to go see these lights, and stay with me like my wife rather than sail home, I will give you another baby to hold.” Ivar folds his arms. Your face lights up in glee– like he hasn’t seen in years. You thrust yourself onto his lap, arms around his neck and pepper him in the softest of kisses. He counts them: three to his lips, four up his jaw and two over his sideburns until you tip him over with one strong kiss of tongues.

It had been a long, long time since he felt you so excited for him. Sure, he saw you as you fuss over your appearance for King Sverri. He would be dumb not to see how you lit up when you saw him. Ivar grunts, motioning for you to get up so that you might go see what he promised of you.

The lights. The vibrant greens lash like Jormungandr on this frozen rock. The blues are like the sapphire of your husband’s eyes, which glitter as he watches you spin and laugh, looking so beautiful– and it was all for him. There is no Kitta or Sverri to ruin this moment. No, it is you laughing unadulterated in the snow. Almost like a child that saw the light for the first time.

“Avaldr!” You call out to the skies. “I hope you can see them too–”

Then you spin around to where Ivar sat on his chair, legs bound tight this time. What use was a crutch on this slick? You slide upon him and all too instinctually his hands wind about the curve of your hips on his. It has been so long since you both had sex, Ivar realizes that he simply had gotten used to being without your body. He settled with Kittas and–

Settled. The word falls heavy in his stomach. He was settling by having her as a wife. The five or four days he spent with her a week, turning away from his young family that he could often hear playing Hnútukast, tossing bones at one another across the hall or his boys wrestling began to grow darkly on him. So much so, he hadn’t realized how much he had been without for your body.

“It is so cold out here!” You seem different somehow. With the news that he would give you another child, you seem rejuvenated.

“Lets go make some heat.” Ivar teases his fingers along your upper arm. “My wife.”

“Make some?” You ask, lifting the cold pads of your fingers to stroke along the thin hair above his lip. Then a giggle. “Make some babies– you mean.”

Ivar nods and you pop up, sliding his arm over your slender shoulder. Another man comes to his side to help him back inside your rooms. The warm crackle of a flame pops when Ivar collapses on the bed, motioning to the thrall.

“Get my wife some ale.” He murmurs.

The thrall brings you a glass as you shed furs off your body– downing the cup quickly. The thrall left the pitcher beside you. You pluck another drink up, beginning to loosen the strands at your breasts when Ivar tosses his knife across the room at the thrall, hissing sharply. It’s fine for a husband to watch you undress, of course, but nobody else should have the pleasure of seeing you naked. You drop the top garment, dropping your olive dress to the ground with a slump.

He swallows dryly when your fingers run across the edge of your white underdress, peeling inch by inch over the skin he so desperately aches for. He courses his tongue across his lip and waits for you to slide your dress over the bend in your waist. Then you slowly drift it off your breasts and abandon the bandage that keeps your chest modest, he sucks in a hot puff of air.

“You’re sure about this?” He says despite the fact that he rather not. Ivar can’t deny what he did last time you had sex– nor help be confused how a wife would trust their husband after such a thing. But you only smile, grasping his shoulders and forcing him back onto the bed. He lowers himself obediently backwards and lets you take control.

“Yes, I want to take my time with you.” You take his lips in a kiss, then another– and another until Ivar’s soft moans are filling the air. He can’t get enough when you pull away, shedding the layers of his tunics off his firm muscles. “I want you to fill me with another.”

Ivar watches you unbuckle his pants, pulling them down with every piece of fabric unbinding his legs. Finally he finds himself naked, and you, grind your naked body over his; breasts and sex shifting against him. His cock wills itself to life like something spring loaded, hardening against your sex that teases him. It’s been so long– years.

“Fuck…” He whispers, gliding his hands down your curves to simply enjoy himself. He had sex with Kitta, angry sex at her negligence when Avaldr died, but there’s something that nags his brain to just relax with you. So he does.

“Let me take care of you.” Ivar mumbles, shifting you back onto the bed. You don’t say anything when he sinks down over your legs, leaving a trail of kisses from your hip bones down between your thighs. He rakes his tongue along the junction of your legs to your torso as if mocking you.

“So do it.” You grumble at him. He can’t help a little laugh, hot air tickling your outer lips. He grins, letting his tongue caress over your lips and slit with his whole mouth agonizingly slowly. Your legs spread, knees pulling back to watch him go, nose massaging against your mound as he swoops along your cunt in smooth licks.

“Fuck.” Another breathy moan, reverberating tremors of excitement across your moist lips. “I forgot how delicious you taste.”

Ivar flattens his tongue, swooping over your cunt in a smooth lick. Then another, zigzagging his tongue up to your clit for a suckle. Inadvertently your hips shift to buck him a little. A gasp falls from your tongue at long last– telling Ivar that your little hole must be moistening that sweet honey for him. He shifts down, forcing his tongue in to receive his treat, nose grinding against your soaked cunt.

“Ivar– please. It’s slow.” You ache, knowing that he full well knows that you want more than those genial licks and teasing flicks against your clit. He pulls his soaked lips away from your entrance, gliding his pink tongue over his lips to rake up any left over excitement. Then he would moisten his fingers with his tongue, gliding them within your cunt. Your walls clamp tight around him. He curses himself for it: your unloved walls must have gone so long with only fingers to warm you. Or a thrall– but he knew that you would never do that to Ragnhild. His digits are different from your own, thicker and almost mechanical in the way he glides up to the knuckle, twiddling his fingers to your cervix.

“O-Oh!” You whimper, causing Ivar’s digits to pull back significantly, stretching you with a flick of his wrist. “Please…”

Ivar watches you shift under his fingers. “You want more?” He asks, a smooth and steady motion of his fingers in and out, in and out with nothing more but his hot breath against your sex and those eyes. God, those eyes drink you in as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Please, Ivar, please.” You let out a harsh moan as his fingers curl, massaging a spot deep within your cunt that felt just right. “Aren’t you hungry?”

He catches your gaze, tilting his head in for only seconds. “Starved.” He enunciates the words, digging his tongue back against your hood. He smoothes over your lips for seconds, dragging and raking his tongue to encircle your clit. While his fingers fuck your pussy, Ivar latches onto that sensitive little button that would push you over. It doesn’t take but moments for you to squeal his name so loud– he knew his men in the other rooms heard you crying for him to give it, more, please, faster faster, agh!

Just like that you come undone, fucking his fingers for more and digging his head down into your cunt, hands at the braiding at his head. He drives you to completion, spilling your wetness over his face and finally giving it up. He fucks you through your orgasm before lifting back up, kissing you in a salty mash of lips together. His forearms around your head keeps you pinned in place.

“Let me now.” You push up as if to push him over when you’re stopped by his firm rock of a body.

“No.” Ivar grunts, letting a hand drift down, coating his cock in your juices. “It’s about you.”

“Then let me ride you.” You mumble, watching as Ivar’s eyes widen. You hadn’t rode him much– but when you had, it was all for you. Ivar falls back, hand around his aching shaft. You slide your legs on either side of him, holding your body up while facing him. His tip grazes your entrance and as you sink down, Ivar wasn’t ready. You take him tightly within your wet walls, devouring him up like a vice. Ivar’s hands drift down to pull you down, hissing when you snap your hands against his knuckles.

“I told you I wanted to take my time. Hands down.” You reprimand– and he knows. He just knows that you will make this painful for him, sliding your hips up and down him slowly as if savouring the way he spreads you apart. Ivar’s head drops back against the bed, noting that if this is how you want to make a baby, he has to supply it. Hips shifting, walls quivering and Ivar helpless to shift. He focuses on the way your cunt snaps up and down his dick, milking him as if your pussy knew what you were after.

Babies.

“Shit… shit…” Ivar moans, hands squirming on the bed resisting the urge to buck you up. You know what you’re doing, he can tell from the way you rock his dick back and forth within him, unwittingly clenching him tight. You develop an achingly slow rhythm.

“It’s too slow.” Ivar complains. He wanted this to be about you, to give you what you wanted– which would have been far easier if he was on top. This way, you were controlling it. You catch his eyes and descend upon him in slow flicks of your hips with filthy excitement dribbling over his tense balls. He could cum already– just from the sight of having you back on his dick.

“Will you force me like that again?” Your words are a hiss, sharp as you tease him. His eyes, having been clenched, open again. You are teaching him a fucking lesson– one that Ivar thought you were over.

“No, never.” He gives his shuddering answer, beginning to lose his apologetic edge. “Now fuck me, damn it to hel.”

Ivar snaps his thumb to your clit, rubbing that sensitive little button as incentive. You squeal, a pleased moan dipping out into a sheer yell just as Ivar loses patience. He wanted this to be all about you, to use his body to please you and make you feel all the love he had built up in his weak bones. Instead his arms snap around your body, forming a tight cuff around your arms locking about your back. He yanks you forward against his chest and his thrusts become savage– short little snaps. Your legs pull up close to your chest with a scream, eliciting such wonderful pleasure built up between your legs. You can’t help yourself, screaming out his name and silencing any men outside about his ‘failing’ marriages. No, this time, he would make sure you knew how he desired you for all the times you said he did not.

He rolls, still sheathed tightly inside of you, causing your legs to spread with the plush furs beneath your back. His hands leave your back to steady himself around you. His arms would balance himself where his legs hardly could and he determines himself in a quick motion of his hips. He saws himself in and out of your body, walls gaping with every pull out.

“Do you still think I don’t desire you?!” He snaps the words that you told Ragnhild all the time– his legs are shaking, so close to his orgasm as he is. Ivar lurches a hand up, tightly knit in your hair as he pulls it to the side, causing your neck to become exposed. He digs his teeth in the column of your neck as you cry out again and again.

“No no no no no.” You squeal, marred by his tongue laving over the harsh bites. He smirks against you, the broad muscles of his back tensing as he moves. Your legs bob against his hips– and that smirk quickly becomes a wicked smile.

“That’s fucking–” A harsher thrust, “right! This is what you want– this is where you belong! On my fat cock, not his!”

“Yes please, please!” You find yourself shouting, letting your hand drift between his shifting body to massaging your engorged clit. His cock begins to pulse inside you and you whimper, waving your hips on his with his thrusts. You become undone with a shuddering cry, gushing over him. Ivar, satisfied with his work, rocks you into the bed in harsh final thrusts. His hips flush, length disappearing completely within you as he stutters his heavy load of cum deep within you. You feel his body tensing and releasing under harsh groans, agh, agh. You milk him of his seed, walls willing and heart needing his creamy essence with every contraction of your walls. Ivar holds himself above you and as he finishes giving you the seed you so desired, he comes back up to capture your lips in smaller kisses.

“What was that?” You mumble in a puff of a breath. Not his. Ivar’s cock stays embedded inside you until it softens, bubbles of his cum dripping down your hole. You had heard what he said. Dread fills Ivar’s stomach.

“Nothing.” He mutters, shifting his soft cock out of your entrance. You grasp his bicep to keep him where he was, curling your back to look at him.

“Are you honestly concerned about what the seer said?” You ask. He throws himself onto the bed and out of your arms, forcing you to fall upon him. It stews in his stomach for some time.

“Drop it.” Ivar shifts away. You reach over his arm to shake him a little– but he doesn’t respond. Perhaps in a way, its better that he doesn’t. You rather he stew quietly than explode angrily.


	21. Prologue XX: After My Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re back home.

There was something intensely gratifying about sailing home with his wife so pregnant. It had been months of laying in bed with you, having sex without a care other than the victory of his Earl, securing a vital port for a raid that he was planning upon arriving home when the waters warmed. All things worked in his favor and now as he took to the horizon, he caught sight of the many boats that were docked in Kattegat’s piers.

“Who is here?” You come by his side, stomach grazing the side of his boat. Ivar would lean his hand out to stroke the curve, hard eyes gazing out to where Sverri’s sails flew. He came. 

“Other kings. We will be raiding new lands.” Ivar remarks. As the boats docked, he caught you leaning on your tippy toes to look out– foreign sails. Your eyes caught the dark green ones, as dark as the grass of a forest. He knew who you were looking for immediately.

“Hvitserk!” You call out to his brother as the plank to walk across is laid down. You take Hvitserk’s hand to step out onto the steady pier. The men would help Ivar across and he took his crutch under his arm.

“It looks like you made up.” Hvitserk bends his head, looking to your belly protruding against his flat stomach when you take him in a hug.

“Somewhat.” You remark just as a heavy weight slammed into your skirts, nearly knocking you over if not for Ivar standing behind you. His arm steadies you and you look down a foot or so to find it is Veifnr’s arms wrapping around your pregnant belly.

“Careful, Veifnr!” His father hisses. “She is with child.”

Watery eyes meet yours, “I missed you.” He says ignoring his father. You stroke down his mop of hair, looking out for Ragnhild who walks in line with Uxi. Smart little Uxi who is likely protecting Ragnhild. Since Avaldr’s death– that childlike quality had left him. Yes, he still played around but he was different. Always watching, always protecting. He walks up and glares at your stomach.

“You’re with another.” He murmurs, looking to his father. “Why would you give mother another when you couldn’t take care of the last one?” 

At the snap, you jerk out to yank Uxi away from his father’s brewing eyes– reaching out and smack Uxi himself with those large palms. You shove yourself in between Uxi and he, cheek clicking to the side by the weight of his smack. Your skin immediately heats up under the power of such a smack. Ivar makes no apology for it when he pulls back. The hush in you intervening on a father reprimanding his son falls dry on everyone’s lips. Kitta appears, head held high and crown glistening as she holds the arm that steadies himself on his crutch.

“You think you’re a man, Uxi, but you’re still a boy. What man would let their mother step in front of them?” Ivar hisses, grasping your wrist with the same hand Kitta hangs off of and yanks you through the crowd. There’s an obvious disconnect between father and son. It aches you to see, especially when you stop in front of other kings, shifting your hair to cover the strike against your face.

“Why would you do that…?” You whisper to Ivar. Uxi follows, hands forming tight balls at his sides. You look to him longingly, wanting nothing else but to comfort him after something so… scarring. It was easy to pat the boys on the butt and send them on their way as children. Now they came into this ripe age where everything Ivar did wasn’t law, how were you to shield them?

“If he thinks he’s a man, he’ll be treated as one.” Ivar throws out. Many of the kings have gather on the beach. You stand with arms folded when there’s a sudden light at the end of the tunnel.

“(Y/N)!”

Your smile perks at Sverri’s silken face. He doesn’t look freshly shaved. No, there’s an attractive short beard along his jawline that brings a flush to your cheeks. He doddles forward, looking over your heavy stomach. ‘Another?’ He mouths, bright enough as if it is his own son in your stomach. You become more than excited to recount your adventures to him– the lights. Avaldr too as you knew he had heard about the little boy’s passing. He sent a messenger in secret to you prior to leaving Kattegat with a beautiful silver fur and white dress you had yet to wear.

Because Ivar would know where it was from.

“Sverri.” You smile but as you lurch out to go to him, Ivar’s arm reaches out to push you back. He throws Sverri a snide scowl while walking forward to face him.

“Don’t speak to my wives. Especially not my princess.” Ivar hisses out. None of the other kings voice their complaints. Not after that horrendous display that shamed Ivar– both wives dancing on the king’s lap.

“Iv… Ivar…” In such a shock your words fail you and he pulls you away towards the Great Hall. You manage to throw Sverri one last frown, knowing in fact that Ivar would never let you speak to him again.

* * *

Coming home was falling for grace. It was easy when you both were away. Away from Uxi’s snide little glares, Kitta’s increasingly erratic behaviour and where he would have your love. Ivar knows he has been missing something but he doesn’t become aware of just that was until the bloodcurdling screams split straight through his already rocky sleep in Kitta’s bed.

“Kitta–” Ivar crawls over her, shaking her out of another trance. One of many in the past few weeks. The pads of Uxi’s feet carry him to your bed, waking you up as Ivar manages to wake Kitta. The Queen’s cries reverberate the walls of your shared home.

_Mama, mother is crying._

_Again._

_Yes– again._

“Kitta calm down!” Ivar hisses. You breach the doorway and crawl into bed on the other side of Kitta.

“Shhh.” A hush of your tongue. Kitta screams a while longer with Ivar’s thumb stroking her forehead down until the screams die from sniffles into smaller huffs. She curls against your body, bringing Ivar’s arm around her waist as she did. As her body melds around your round belly, you sigh to her.

“What has this been about?” You ask.

“It’s hot.” She says cryptidly. It’s the same thing she says every night when she doesn’t seek comfort in touching you more. Ivar sighs, settling back into bed when Kitta’s eyes shut again. Like the last few weeks, you don’t move from this now shared bed.

* * *

You woke early.

As you usually did, a walk clears your mind of the dark thoughts your mind goes though. The confusion of Kitta’s night terrors which frequents your home more and more often is ever present on your mind. 

Almost as much as the pull and release of the bow in Kattegat’s square. King Sverri– you gaze at him drawing back his bow, muscles quivering and releasing an arrow into a target over and over again. He is silent as he stands there in a dull brown tunic, trousers shoved into his brown boots. His pendant beats on his chest as he moves to pull the arrow out harshly, flicking it to the side when he caught sight of you.

You shift back from your walk to the doorway of your home, watching as Sverri battles with his words to explain something to you. But he is not allowed to talk to you. He balls up his fist at his sides, shaking his curling locks as he slips away out of sight. Somehow, you wish that he would have said something, anything.

“He’s leaving, my lady.” Ragnhild came behind you with her broom sweeping heavily. Dust and pebbles kick up under your rasping breath as she moves away.

“What?” You say to her.

“Our King disrespected him. He’s set to leave for the benefit of the alliance. Hvitserk says he was enraged…” Ragnhild mutters sweeping by you.

“What is enraged mean?” You whisper gently to her. A hush silence fills the doorway. The thralls inside didn’t have the words to explain either. _What?_ You ask them.

“He killed a king.” Hvitserk breaks the silence inside the hall. You glance back out to where Sverri was. A lone arrow is still embedded in his target, a solid mark made. There is nothing left for you to say. Not as Sverri’s boats leave Kattegat’s harbour out toward his frozen lands. 

“Why would Sverri kill a king?” You ask. There would be no revenge. Anyone that wanted to go against Sverri would have to do so in one to one combat. Obviously– no one had yet. Strange, you think, you never knew Sverri to be so violent.

“Disrespect. Now, what is wrong with Kitta?” He asks. She would mope around in bed today, unfitting for a queen. In fact it was most unfitting for anyone. Even you only rested but a day or two after labour before rising back up to work. You sigh as you move away. Hvitserk watches you swish around Kitta’s chair, looking to sit upon the steps beside Ivar’s chair as you usually did.

“She is having night terrors of burning.” You inform him, hands caressing the swell of your child.

“Perhaps it’s her guilt.” He bites out. “She’s been after you like a rutting dog.”

A small laugh escapes your lips. Yes, you had been lucky enough to evade her for this long. But when it came down to it, Kitta was the least of your worries. You worried for Sverri, your new baby… your people. Kitta would have to settle to the backburner. It wasn’t that you were afraid. Instead, you were tired of the fights. Even if Ivar brought you to a wonderfully romantic place with Kitta to rule Kattegat with an iron fist, you knew that at home, your place was here.

Not on the throne.

On the steps.

“It doesn’t bother me anymore.” You remark with your hands combing through your hair. A thick sigh escapes your lips. You stroke over the wood planks of the steps, thinking back. You’ve been here twelve years, maybe thirteen. Uxi’s conception was shortly after you married your husband and your boys? They come to the age of men.

“Are you going to keep telling yourself lies?” He steps away from you.

You’d tell yourself that until you were dead.

* * *

The pains of labour were familiar to you. They came in waves, heavy waves. This time, there is no Ivar or Kitta here. You barely told Ragnhild. No, Ivar is busy with talk of Sverri and the other kings. They suspected the disrespect would burn him deep and plan to raid his lands soon, throwing away prior plans. Of course you knew all this but there was little you could do to help it. Ivar is determined to snuff out any opposition to his rule. It isn’t until the evening that he realizes you are in labour

“We could keep you distracted!” Hvitserk walks with you, stopping under the weight of a contraction that you simply deal with, kicking your heel on the ground. You hiss as the pain releases you from its vices, claws out of your skin.

“What on Earth is going to distract me?” You grunt out.

“A flower crown. Lets go make one. Or perhaps you could eat.” He says, leaving you by the table to go pick up a basket of raspberries. You could have puked at the sight of them. No, when you were in labour, you didn’t eat anything. The mere scent had you nearly wretching into the cloth bag Ragnhild had beside you.

“She’s must be watching her dainty figure, Hvitserk!” Kitta’s words came from the top of the throne where Ivar and Kitta came in, watching as your knuckles clench the side of the table.

“Enough Kitta.” Ivar bites out. Hvitserk drops his berries into the basket, sliding his arm around your thickened waist to urge you elsewhere. You hiss as you stand upright, another contraction spreading through your body. He watches Ivar’s flickering concern for your body spread across his hardened features but he makes no effort to come help you.

Everything was back to normal alright. You throw an angry glare to Kitta, noting that she was only like this when others were around. In private, she needed you. You knew that she wanted you. Hvitserk takes you to your room, sitting you down in your chair. While your hips bare down in that thin little sheet of a dress, he pulled a chair up beside you with Ragnhild.

“My lady,” Ragnhild smiles, putting a cloth to your forehead. “I had a dream you gave birth to an Ivarsdottir.”

This makes you laugh. You knew that there was only one sister of Ivar who had passed. You are an only child and much of the Viking population? Men. The few women that lived were highly sought after.

“Hah… that is unlikely…” You moan through the waves frequenting your body, making you shake under the intensity of what felt like a rod shoved deep through your sex. A quiet woman, you stifle your noises of pain. Hvitserk’s hands cup over yours, weaving a small crown. You glance down to his hands affectionately.

“It will be okay. I’m used to this Hvitserk.” You mumble. He holds his lips shut, elbows on his knees working small white flowers on the crown. You find it affectionate. Most men… they would be doing other things. They would go out and deal with manly things. They would be preparing to raid. But your sweet Hvitserk is here acting as if he knew a lick about weaving and braiding in flowers. It was cute.

* * *

Finally there is a break between hearing the words of men and women, setting those out to be fined and those to be punished. Ivar’s thumb meets his lip, finishing strips of meat on his plate. 

“We should divorce.” Ivar looks over to her, prepared for the outburst when it comes in nothing but a small huff of annoyance.

“This again?” She barks out.

“Is it not preferable to your dreams?” He murmurs as if he could escape fate. Something is coming for him, something deep and dark. Potentially worse than the death of his crippled son.

“My dreams will come to fruition either way. I am staying.” Queen Kitta makes out the words, hands back in her lap. “And you will too.”

Ivar bends his head back with a hiss. “Have you not noticed how I no longer crave your body?”

Kitta’s fingers clench the deep red of her skirt. As any woman would notice, so had she. Ivar is simply pulling at strings by telling her this, to hurt her and make her run. “Any woman would.” The Queen says, “I am not stupid.”

If there was one thing Kitta wasn’t, it was stupid. She knew she was no longer desired here. But if crumbs of love were all that were set out on the table, Queen Kitta would take those crumbs.

* * *

Hvitserk stays for the last few hours until the sun was on the horizon. You sit on a chair upright, hanging onto it with the final pushes echoing the room where Ivar is on all fours watching with Hvitserk. He lays waiting as the midwife came between your legs, worshipping you softly. The cries, of course not yours, break the silence of the room like he has not heard in many years. He realizes he is holding his breath when the midwife squeals in glee, wiping down the baby you shared with him.

“My KING!” She howls, turning down to him on one knee. “You have a healthy DAUGHTER!”

Then everything goes numb for him. He realizes that he has the dumbest look on his face when hers flickers in concern.

“Is it not yours?” The midwife asks. Before you can scream at the midwife though, Ivar jumps in.

“Of course she’s mine.” He says, extending his shaky hands. The midwife supplies the daughter, wiped down and clean when Hvitserk lowers himself down beside his brother. Ivar is shaking. His thick fingers caresses the soft apples of her cheek when she looks at him with those foxy eyes daring a look as if she was sent in response of death. Not Avaldr, his mother. Even so little, Ivar swears she looks just like his mother over and over again.

“M… my sweet daughter. You look like– hm– mother. You know that, uh? You look like her.” Ivar whispers to his daughter, rocking in place. You’re so exhausted that you don’t mind the midwife delivering the afterbirth and pressing down on your stomach like she was flattening bread. Hvitserk is wiser to his brother however.

“You’re shaking.” Hvitserk remarks, leaning in to set the little crown atop of her head. His brother growls at him to keep away– and Hvitserk leaves to help the midwife lower you into a warm bath. Ivar finally addresses you.

“I want to call her Aslaug after my beautiful mother.” He tells you. You lightly grunt out your response as Ragnhild massages your damp hair.

“You’re the father. You have the right in everything. Even marriage.” You say– a little harshly so. Ivar pulls her close, snuggling into her. Then your words seem to flicker over him as if he understood the connotations of that too.

“Marriage?” He hisses. Oh gods– he really didn’t know what you meant?

You spread your eyes open and glance over to your husband. “All Viking women marry, Ivar.”

“Not my daughter.” He remarks obsessively, shutting you up with his knuckle against her cheek. “She will be her father’s princess forever.”

Your head lulls back, eyes shutting. If things could be so, you would have been Faksi’s wallflower until the day you died. For now, you think, it is easier to shake your head at your husband rather than dash his dreams.


	22. Prologue XXI: Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all... so... hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, the prologue is complete. If you've read the prologue prior to the mainline, know that the mainline does get dark.

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/fb4f29f3c80f74ae0ad18b9596ec2f29/tumblr_phwpr5zkZU1v19l0n_540.jpg)

“Take care of my children.”

Ivar is leaving again. This time, for Sverri’s lands. Your hands are held in his, head bent while Ragnhild held your new daughter. You nod as Ivar lays a dry kiss on your lips but says nothing more. He moves to Ragnhild to kiss Aslaug’s head. His boys receive nothing but goodbyes as Ivar boards his ship. The sails rise in a violent red spiral and you turn from him to Kitta, heading back to the hall.

“(Y/N).” She stops you just short of going in, hand at your shoulder.

“Yes?” You murmur. She looks about to see if anyone is looking at her before rising her hand to your soft cheek.

“I have three days left.” She says, obviously having not told Ivar if she was telling this to you. He never would have left. You glance over your shoulder to her.

“Kitta… you will be fine, I’m sure of it.” You murmur, as she tilts your chin up. You freeze when her lips cup over yours gently. She doesn’t fight to hold your wrists or shove you against anything at all. No, the Queen takes advantage of your shock to run her lips against yours, pulling apart when your hand lightly pushes her back. She stumbles on the planks when you bite her a glare.

“Three days.” She says. “I was hoping you would come to bed with me.”

Your words feel dry on your tongue. Come to bed with her? The last time you let her do that, she humiliated you. She slept with you and threw you out to the wolves for Hvitserk to know what had happened. You shake your head a hundred times over.

“Kitta… I can’t betray my husband.” You murmur, finding it easier to run around her than say anything else. The Queen snickers softly, reaching out to cup your cheek in her hand once again. You almost yank your face away when she gives you a bittersweet smile.

“It’s far easier to say no then pretend you care about Ivar.” Kitta snips. Your hand rises up, snapping her hold on you with a whirl of your wrist.

“Then no. I won’t fuck you. Ragnhild.” You look to Ragnhild, jerking your head in direction of the hall as you stomp by. Veifnr follows Ragnhild while Uxi folds his arms standing by his other mother. By far the more attached to Kitta, he stands on the wooden pier.

“You should leave mother. Go to the farm.” He tells her with his arms firm one over another. He is beginning to firm out, eating more and more of the food the thralls made. Kitta laughs somewhat at the notion that she should leave– because its easier to laugh then cry.

“No. When I am gone, have your mother bury me at my farm.” Kitta unclips a pendant from around her neck and steps in front of Uxi. Through all the fights over the year– he had always been quiet instead of telling Kitta when something wasn’t right. More than any child, Uxi was the one she once hoped could be hers.

But Uxi belonged to no one.

“You’ll be a fine warrior one day, my son. Take this helm of awe into war with you. It carries both your great grandfather, who slaid Fafnir, and your grandfather Ragnar, who died by snakes.” She slides the wooden necklace into her hands, negating any frustration that his built up in his face. His hand curls the pendant shut in his hands with a pained nod.

“Mother… the gods don’t have the last say. You could leave!” He tries to supply when she shushes him quickly.

“Are you a man, Uxi?” Kitta hisses. Men came to age around thirteen or fifteen at latest. He was almost an adult. He nods quickly. He’s wanted his arm ring for a year or more and more than that– the respect of Kitta and Ivar.

“Good.” She grasps his jawline, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Then act like one and let me carry out my death how I want it.”

“Yes mother.”

* * *

Clack clack clack.

There were noises in Kattegat at night that you were used to. Your husband’s guards patrolling, sure. Aslaug whining and whimpering for food, of course. But of all things you were ready for, the beady croak and pluck at your wall wasn’t one you felt like dealing with. You roll in your silvery furs, groaning when there is a loud crash crash– and you quickly realize one thing.

There is a raven in the window leading to outside. It’s wings flap harshly, causing you to roll off your bed and onto the ground with a crack! “Shoo.” You mumble, standing up out of the fur you’ve tugged off Ragnhild.

It turns its eyes to you. One, utterly desecrated by a nasty scar. But it’s eye is still there, nearly white, casting its eye onto you. You count the days since Ivar passed. Three, Ivar left Kattegat. Two, Kitta gave you her crown piece. One, that had been today and as the realization set you, the bird squawks far away.

“Ragnhild GET UP!” You howl, unintentionally waking little Aslaug up. Uxi stutters awake, eyes groggy with sleep as you will Aslaug back into a slumber. You bundle her quickly and tell Ragnhild to dress. Uxi shakes Veifnr awake, rolling over out of his peaceful dreamland and into something much, much darker.

“Take them to Ivar, Ragnhild, quickly.” You motion her to fill a bag under the foreign voices that spill through the open spaces at the top of the walls in the throne room. You look around in your private chambers under thick furs.

_“In case anything happens, know that I have safe guarded you, princess.”_

_Ivar stomped his crutch about a hollow area in the room. You were newly married– and yet he was speaking of such dark things while you patted Uxi’s soft, baby back in a deep blue linen. You shook your head with the lightest of frowns._

_“Ivar… do we have to speak of such dark things when he’s just arrived?” You said then fell to your knees before Ivar and pulled up the latch. Below the hunk of wood was a safe space, a passageway out underground._

_“I have many enemies and little friends. You need to be prepared.” You settled on your butt before him and gave him a nod as he slid it shut and brought the over it after you tugged furs in place._

You thrust the table to the side and open the board below. BANG! Goes the door to the great hall, threatening to spill open at any moment. Somehow, someone had done it. Someone had overcome Kattegat.

“Mother, what are you doing?!”

“You must hide.”

* * *

_He’ll take care of you if you let him._

Funny as it was, you weren’t the one so surprised. No, instead you found your mind stuck on Kitta. Where had she gone? Was she safe? You know the answer but foolishly, you found your mind beating a hundred places she could have gone. Burn the other, they had said.

“The king wants you to see something.” The man holding you said in a tongue that is strangely hinted by someone familiar. You knew that dialect– you had been around it for the past fourteen years or so.

“What do you mean?” You ask the man who carries you over his shoulder out of the Great Hall. There is a great clearing in a secluded area where wood has been assembled into a grand funeral pyre. You’re familiar with them, the great sight of heavy woods arranged in a tower, tied with heavy ropes.

“We’re here to see a sacrifice made just to you, lady princess.” The burly man rumbles in words that yes– you’ve heard before. Everyone in Kattegat called you princess. The only man to call you a lady princess was Sverri. Sverri, the King who stood upon a shaky wooden surface, green eyes popping from a sea of black war paint that streaked down from his eyes to the buds of his new beard. 

“A sacrifice of a shieldmaiden to Odin for our victory! Long live the Queen (Y/N)!”

Your eyes are exhausted, puffy and hot when the man set you down, hands on your shoulders as Sverri strode down in nothing but his darkest trousers and leather boots. Upon the great pyre of dark wood you realized that no– it wasn’t just flames with cattle or other animals.

But upon that pyre are the dark, hooded green eyes that were set in a foxish face. Her jaw was knit tight, arms bound to her sides in a scant nightdress. But like usual, her head is held high. Almost prideful. The words on your lips fail.

“You’ll have to tell me how it is to burn, Kitta!” You hear of the King when Sverri shifts the torch of a hot red flame closer to her night dress– inch by inch. Her eyes follow him, chest swelling in one hard raise as if she holds in her breath.

“Kitta!” You lurch forward, but no, the man behind you holds you in place. You had lied to her– you told her it would be fine! Who could overcome Kattegat, you thought! The hot flame flickers at first against her dress before it lights entirely, spiraling up the thin dress. You hear nothing of her– initially that is. When she finally lets out her first howling scream, mind racing a thousand screams for her king, Sverri is pleased. He trails around the pyre to light subsequent areas, braids bobbing against his pale back until he’s forced to stand back. The heat radiates, thrusting embers to kiss the ivory full moon above.

“Odin, Odin, Odin stop this!” You find yourself chanting, hands slapping to your ears unable to bear her screams. You had saved her once from death– only for this to happen again. You thought you were taking care of her and yet, this is all your fault. Your fault, your fault! Sverri is doing this for you. But if he knew you, he would know that death of family was something you never wanted. Not in a thousand years.

It feels as hot as your bread oven, pluming hot even against your skin nipped by the hottest of embers. Your screaming is so shrill, even through the bellowing of the crowd in glee, that Sverri catches sight of your knees hitting the ground.

As he rushes to your side, you are rocking back and forth, back and forth, eyes unseeing the horror stripped across the bubbling char of Kitta’s skin. You aren’t even sure if she’s completely there, bubbling coughs and wheezing that you couldn’t make out under the roar of the flames. She isn’t screaming for Ivar anymore, in fact her head has dropped against her chest– and that terrifies you. Her reddish tinged blonde hair has fizzled out, skin peeling away in the death of the queen.

“(Y/N)! There is nothing to be afraid of.” Sverri swipes up your shoulders in his arms, trying to bring you back up to your feet against his cool bare skin.

“No! No!” You shake against him, unable to look at her body crumbling from its once glorious beauty. Surtr-- you scream. Loki! You curse. Sverri notes the jotunn name of a Jotunn, a fire giant that would kill Freyr in Ragnarok. You must have been terrified if you thought that god was here. All he could do was pet your hair through the shock, your words degenerating into a mere sob of Kitta’s name. If there was one thing he had thought you would look forward to– it was no longer being that wretched woman’s sister wife. But as you lay there sobbing in his arms, that doesn’t seem to be the case. There are no songs on your lips to will away the pain.


	23. Chapter I: The Right One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The king arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I began this fic with this chapter. So if it seems to be a bit of an outlier or a repeat, it's because this is the technical beginning to Irreplaceable. There will be an influx of works on Irreplaceable the next four days.

“Ragnhild GET UP!” 

“Mother what are you doing?!”

“Take them to Ivar, Ragnhild, quickly.” You motion her to fill a bag under the foreign voices that spill through into the throne room.

“Hush, hush! You must hide—“ Your footsteps ripple across the wooden floor as you came to a stop in front of a group of tousled furs underneath a table. You sought the slight creasing that created a faux door and pop it open, pushing your older of sons, Uxi in. The younger son Veifnr quickly follows, staring as you hand off their youngest sibling to him. By Freyja’s grace, it opens well. Uxi shuffles with the swords on his belt while you throw a look back to Ragnhild. 

“Come quickly!” You call to your thrall Ragnhild. She scuttles awkwardly forth, her bag stuffed full with whatever she could get on such short notice. She slinks down into the small hideaway, shuddering at rippling cracks against the door behind you. You shudder, knowing what might be coming for you. Uxi shoves forward in complaint that he wanted to stay– but you tell him to mind Aslaug’s safety with a hand to his forehead, shoving him back down. 

“My lady,” She stops you as you lower the handle to the shut door. Her voice quivers but is otherwise unaffected, strong. As the years with you had made your daughter figure. “I’ll tell my king to come get you.”

The tears beading at the corner of your eyes overfill, streaming down your supple cheeks. You wanted him to come save you, you did. But something deep down in you said it wouldn’t be for you. It would be for beloved Kitta who was the source of his affection, who could whine her way into days with him while you only enjoyed scraps.

“He won’t. You know why he took me as a wife. Just please, take care of my children.” With that, you slid the hatch shut and drag the furs over the door again. You clean your hands your dress that sits over the light swell of your stomach.

“OPEN!” A group of men shrill in your native tongue, but a foreign dialect of it. The dialect is oddly familiar. They knock down the door, swelling through the door to rush forth. You lay on the bed quivering just as they would expect you to. The leader of the men drags you to your feet, his palm cracking across your face when you fought him. You fall again in a pool of your burgundy dress, lips shut tight as the men kick over the most precious of your items. They were looking for something… or someone.

Lower your head, you think. Look like the submissive women they like. If they thought you were as stupid as they were, perhaps you could stand a chance in surviving this for your babies.

“You are… Ivar’s wife?” The head of the group asks you. He inspects the crutches tossed in the corner of the room, coming back with them in his hand. Your eyes glaze over them neither agreeing or disagreeing when he rose the crutches up over his head as if to beat you again. Your hands snap up protectively to your face.

“Yes!” You answer at once. Using your fingers, you signal two fingers to him. It seems to occur to him what you meant. You were the second wife Ivar took.

“One of two.” He mutters.

The man glowers at you when another speaks. His voice is marked by an accent all too like your own. This one, you know, must have been from Kattegat. He sounded as if he were one of the higher ranking men Ivar had.

“This one is the mother of his children, not his favourite.” The man of Kattegat explains.

“And the children?” He asks. When you say nothing, he glances back to the turncoat viking. His clean cut face drops slightly, coursing his tongue across his lip as he looks around the room.

“They must have escaped.”

You exhale, grateful for either his stupidity or his grace. The answer did not go over well with the leader. He threw you over your marital bed hovering over you with a hand compressing your neck. The air almost felt snuffed out of your throat by how harshly he treated you.

“So this is the right one. He wants to burn the other.”

It all went to black.

* * *

_The visiting king was handsome._

_When he spoke, his voice fell over you like a deep ribbon softly caressing against your skin. There was something about him. Perhaps it wasn’t his sharp features or the deepness of his eyes from behind thick, dusky waves of hair, but the fact that when he looked at you, it was nothing short of admiration.You remember him from Uppsala. It was the first time you had seen him since. The man that had comforted you from a betrayal._

_“If you don’t need her tonight, let me take her.” The visiting king faced you. His fingers stroked the underside of your jaw, acting as if he had never met you before. “You are so beautiful.”_

_You were a mess, your hand either curling through your hair or at the hotness of your cheeks for much of the night. In the same token Ivar had glowered at you for much of the night. The hold on his cup drew white to his knuckles._

_“I don’t share that wife. She is very fertile.” He said sharply in response._

_“A shame.” The king responded and kicked his feet out to retire to bed. Then, bending at his waist, he brought your hand to his for a kiss. “Good night, my lady princess. It was nice to see you again.”_

_“Goodnight King Ivar!” He called._

_“You were drooling for him.” Your husband said as soon as the man was out of eyesight. His hand had been taken up with the pale one of his other wife, but Ivar quickly lashed out to grab yours kissed by the king. His grip tightened like heavy chain, forming bruises your wrist with the force of his touch. Ivar pushed away his favourite wife and grabbed the crutch by his side while still holding you._

_“I… I was being friendly.” You said in your defense. You had to be! Ivar needed this alliance. So you told yourself to run from the truth._

_You were starved for his touch._


	24. Chapter II: His Fiery Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys must tell their father what happened while he was away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter with semi repeats!

“The king wants you to see something.” The man holding you said in a tongue that is strangely hinted by someone familiar. You knew that dialect– you had been around it for the past fourteen years or so.

“What do you mean?” You ask the man who carries you over his shoulder out of the Great Hall. There is a great clearing in a secluded area where wood has been assembled into a grand funeral pyre. You’re familiar with them, the great sight of heavy woods arranged in a tower, tied with heavy ropes.

“We’re here to see a sacrifice made just to you, lady princess.” The burly man rumbles in words that yes– you’ve heard before. Everyone in Kattegat called you princess. The only man to call you a lady princess was Sverri. Sverri, the King who stood upon a shaky wooden surface, green eyes popping from a sea of black war paint that streaked down from his eyes to the buds of his new beard.

“A sacrifice of a shieldmaiden to Odin for our victory! Long live the Queen (Y/N)!”

Your eyes are exhausted, puffy and hot when the man set you down, hands on your shoulders as Sverri strode down in nothing but his darkest trousers and leather boots. Upon the great pyre of dark wood you realized that no– it wasn’t just flames with cattle or other animals.

But upon that pyre are the dark, hooded green eyes that were set in a foxish face. Her jaw was knit tight, arms bound to her sides in a scant nightdress. But like usual, her head is held high. Almost prideful. The words on your lips fail.

“You’ll have to tell me how it is to burn, Kitta!” You hear of the King when Sverri shifts the torch of a hot red flame closer to her night dress– inch by inch. Her eyes follow him, chest swelling in one hard raise as if she holds in her breath.

“Kitta!” You lurch forward, but no, the man behind you holds you in place. You had lied to her– you told her it would be fine! Who could overcome Kattegat, you thought! The hot flame flickers at first against her dress before it lights entirely, spiraling up the thin dress. You hear nothing of her– initially that is. When she finally lets out her first howling scream, mind racing a thousand screams for her king, Sverri is pleased. He trails around the pyre to light subsequent areas, braids bobbing against his pale back until he’s forced to stand back. The heat radiates, thrusting embers to kiss the ivory full moon above.

“Odin, Odin, Odin stop this!” You find yourself chanting, hands slapping to your ears unable to bear her screams. You had saved her once from death– only for this to happen again. You thought you were taking care of her and yet, this is all your fault. Your fault, your fault! Sverri is doing this for you. But if he knew you, he would know that death of family was something you never wanted. Not in a thousand years.

It feels as hot as your bread oven, pluming hot even against your skin nipped by the hottest of embers. Your screaming is so shrill, even through the bellowing of the crowd in glee, that Sverri catches sight of your knees hitting the ground.

As he rushes to your side, you are rocking back and forth, back and forth, eyes unseeing the horror stripped across the bubbling char of Kitta’s skin. You aren’t even sure if she’s completely there, bubbling coughs and wheezing that you couldn’t make out under the roar of the flames. She isn’t screaming for Ivar anymore, in fact her head has dropped against her chest– and that terrifies you. Her reddish tinged blonde hair has fizzled out, skin peeling away in the death of the queen.

“(Y/N)! There is nothing to be afraid of.” Sverri swipes up your shoulders in his arms, trying to bring you back up to your feet against his cool bare skin.

“No! No!” You shake against him, unable to look at her body crumbling from its once glorious beauty. Surtr-- you scream. Loki! You curse. Sverri notes the jotunn name of a Jotunn, a fire giant that would kill Freyr in Ragnarok. You must have been terrified if you thought that god was here. All he could do was pet your hair through the shock, your words degenerating into a mere sob of Kitta’s name. If there was one thing he had thought you would look forward to– it was no longer being that wretched woman’s sister wife. But as you lay there sobbing in his arms, that doesn’t seem to be the case. There are no songs on your lips to will away the pain.

* * *

“King Ivar, you have visitors.”

A few days before they were set to return home, he encounters his first inklings of an issue. His sons bustled through the doorway, coated in mud and nipped by the cold air of their travels. Veifnr was shaking like a leaf. Uxi, his pride, did not shake one bit. They stop in front of their father, eyes glued to the floor with straight postures in their wait to be addressed. Ivar tips over his cup of ale as he stands up abruptly on his crutch. Ivar’s face was as still as stone despite the chills telling him something had happened. 

“Why are you boys here?” He asks. Undoubtedly, his second wife would be prowling about outside if his boys were here. He wonders why you would send them in without first addressing him yourself. It’s unlike you. His head lulls to the side when neither answer, lazily turning his gaze back to his oldest. 

“And Kitta?” Ivar limps around the table where he sat. Suddenly the oldest of his boys broke out into an outburst, his voice little more than a shrill stringing out his voice out of Sverri’s silvery home, bones of his hunts mounted throughout the room. Strangely, Sverri was not here. A vast portion of his army had been removed.

“She’s dead! And mother could be too! But you would rather she be dead anyway seeing how much you hate her!” Uxi’s screams spill out of the wooden walls Ragnhild slips in, rocking the small babe in her arms. Ivar rubs the stress from his brow– Kitta. Kitta was dead?

“Uxi.” She sets a consoling hand to his shoulder. He rolls his shoulder in response to get her off of him, shoving forward into his father’s face. Ivar holds the stress together between the thumb and middle finger, avoiding the sight of weakness in front of his boys. He finally removes his hand from his face.

“No! Everyone protects poor Ivar the Boneless but no one protects my mother!”

The boys flinch when Ivar’s fist pounds on the oaken table. With a stern voice, Ivar looks to his younger son. The one that rarely speaks and for years that he thought simply couldn’t speak. He is stupidly honest.

“Veifnr.” Ivar says. The little boy runs rigid, looking up to Ivar.

“Yes father?” He bows his head. Of the two sons, he was the more respectful to anyone that spoke with him. Almost gentle to Ivar’s displeasure. A wily child was better than a blindly obedient boy. 

“Is it true?”

He nips his lower lip and nods, ropes of his braids bobbing on his head. The two watch as their father loses all colour in his features, reminded of his first wife’s claim that she would soon go with the gods before he left to conquer his rival’s lands. Who knew if he would see her again– if he went to Valhalla, he never would. Veifner expands on his statement, meekly taking a step forward.

“Mother said you would not come for her and sent us with Ragnhild to buy time.”

Ivar’s eyes avert to a burning candle, running his finger over the waxen ridge. It was no mystery to him now where Sverri had gone. Not to raid someone else's land, but to take his. The only question left for him was… did Sverri kill Kitta? His mind races to that awful night years ago-- how hatefully Sverri claimed he would not sleep with his beautiful, blonde bitch of a wife. It had to be him. He would have to reclaim everything. His lands and his remaining wife whom apparently doubted his abilities as a man.

After more than twelve years of being together, he thought you would know better than to doubt him. Did he not say he would take care of you? He had promised to keep you safe by taking you as his wife? When he had wives– he loved them. You were the last wife he promised Kitta he would take and now, he wasn’t about to throw you away. Not after all he had been through with you. You were still his, no matter what you thought. As a man, he had an obligation to take care of what was his. The king turns to his sons, pushing forward a plate of scarce meat.

“Tell me what happened.”


	25. Chapter III: I Always Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sverri and the Reader speak.

Highly respected King Sverrri, the man who had a supposed alliance with Ivar and the one you… often found yourself looking forward to seeing no matter what the occasion was. He was here. He burned Kitta. The moment you found yourself back in your rooms, your arms were folded. Cheeks hot by the tears pricking your cheeks all night.

“Why would you do such a thing? Invading us? Kitta?” You ask as you sit on your bed. Sverri slowly saunters in front of you, his hand curling through your locks of hair to pull you into his firm chest. It would be a lie to say that you hadn’t dreamed of him just like this-- his muscles against your body. It’s tainted by the strong waft of smoldering smoke. He says nothing at first, such words escaping him for what he has done. You didn’t look pleased. He thought you would be.

“It was a long time coming.” He reassures you. “Ivar was going to invade my lands, wasn’t he?”

You can’t convince yourself to respond. It was hard enough to know that Sverri had done something he could not take back. Worse so knowing that Ivar would never let this slide. He would invade Kattegat for his own honour if nothing else. You sigh and eventually give him a nod of relinquishment. Sverri lowers down, kneeling before you with one of his large hands at your cheek.

“I came for you.” He explains, tilting your chin up to look at him. He had done bad– he had killed Kitta. He was a murderer. You keep trying to tell yourself these things, but the way he went on, softens you. “Maybe I could have been happy seeing your beauty from afar, on those little trips to Kattegat. Then he banished me from your sight. The thought of never being with you again. I… no. I’ve wanted you to be with me for years.”

Years? The words kiss your ears, deep into your soul with a bright smile unable to keep itself from your lips. It had been too long that Ivar had said anything sweet to you. Your eyes flutter shut when Sverri leans in.

“Is this okay?” He mutters, lips hovering against yours. You nod and the king would press forward with a small kiss barely gliding against your lips. Then another, gliding your back down against the plush silvery furs of your bed. As his hand rubs against your stomach, you broke his smooth kisses, bending your head to smell the soot and wood on his hair that dangled in your face.

“I shouldn’t have done that. Aslaug and the boys…” You murmur gently, searching with the words to say.

“He named your daughter after his mother?” Sverri asks with his tattooed forearm bracing himself above your head.

“Of course he did.”

Perhaps the baby was made out of your choice– but Ivar was quick to establish his paternal rights over her. Had he any shame, he would have let you. He knew what happened with the last pregnancy. He knew how much you wanted this little girl.

“I’ll take care of Ivar.” He says, watching as your head bobs to the corner of the room, gazing at training swords behind the wispy curtains of his dusky hair. You could only hope they made it safely.

* * *

Uxi reminds him of himself at such an important age. The boy did not just stew. He was planning. He could be seen brandishing his sword over and over again, clumsily whipping his sword in circles. Sometimes even stabbing through wooden dummy. Ivar sits beside Hvitserk watching as Veifnr approached his brother, whispering into his ear.

“Are you going after her?” Hvitserk asks after several wayward minutes. His hand nurtures his niece’s back, having swept her away from the tired wet nurse while Ragnheld slept from her long journey to these icy, gods-forsaken lands. Ivar throws a look over to Hvitserk for little more than a second, reflecting on the children he so desired. What little time he offered them because of his first wife’s neediness. It’s strange to now have… nothing but time to be with them.

“Does it look like I have a choice?” Ivar seethes, fisting his palms. It’s not just for the good of his relationship with his boys. He can’t deny that he wants to go get you. After what happened to Kitta… his mistakes in all that he had done. He had to get you. To protect you from who he knew had invaded his lands. It had to be Sverri. The fucking little shit was after you from the day you saw him again, pregnant with Uxi and a giggle on your lips talking of old things. As a man, he wasn’t about to let that stand. Still, the boys were alienated from him with good reason. It was nothing that you had done, everything to do with what he had done. He recalls one of those such moments.

_You were helping braid his hair that night before he left. A normal routine where Ivar relaxed against your fingertips and enjoyed the way you cared for him. It could almost be described as intimate, if Ivar wasn’t listening. The boys playing with chipped wooden figurines of chess left time to yourselves. Theoretically of course._

_“Father, stay the night. Mother needs you.” Uxi was the first to ask, unapologetic in his attempts. The same old, tell tale question that left him feel less than the ideal husband and father. You slid beside his son to hold his small fingers between your own. He wasn’t particularly close lately with Ivar. After what happened, their disagreements were becoming all the more commonplace. They were fighting more than agreeing– but you knew that he loved his father._

__

_“Uxi, try to understand. Your father has to go with Kitta. She’s all alone. I have your brother and you, but she has no one.” She curled her hand through his thick bangs, watching the expression on his face change from excitable to heartbreak._

__

__

_“It’s his fault that this happened mother. He should stay with us to make sure you are okay.” He argues._

__

__

_“I will be okay with you two.” You say quickly, biting back the tears that well up. No. No, not again. Ivar dragged himself down from his chair, crawling on his forearms to his small son whose eyes moistened with tears. He knows this has affected you more than you would lead on._

__

__

_“Keep your mother company. Next year, you will raid with me.” He said. “Will that make you feel better, my son?”_

__

__

_Next year? He could tell that you wanted to say it was too early. In all truth, it wasn’t too early. His sons could go raiding. He knew you were lonely and perhaps in a way, it was selfish of him to take his sons. But they had to learn the right ways. He knew you would need more children to fill the void. It would be easy to fill you up with more. The way Uxi’s eyes glittered up like the stars at night held you back._

__

__

_“Deal!”_

Hvitserk’s lips are moving but nothing that came out made it to Ivar. Instead, he pushes himself to walk to his boys. Uxi’s body became rigid, turning back to slap his blade against Veifnr’s own. Ivar stands back to admire his sons work while reclining on one arm over his crutch.

“I promised to let you raid with me next year.” Ivar tilts his head when Uxi grunts in acknowledgement. “Things have changed. You will come with me to reclaim your mother.”

Then Uxi stops from swinging his sword above his head, lowering to stare at his father with brilliant blue eyes resounding shock. The sword clatters onto the dusty earth and he charges to Ivar, swinging his arms tight around his back. Ivar’s hand settles on his back. Neither he nor Uxi speak, and when Veifnr creeps over to hold his brother, there is nothing anyone could say to break up the moment.

* * *

The days that followed were stale on your tongue. It was bizarre to go from watching after your children, feeding Aslaug and waiting from Ivar to return to this: nothing. Instead of looking after them, Sverri implored you to care for yourself. He could tell that you weren’t dressing up as beautifully as you used to prior to the falling out with Ivar. It was hard to find the drive when you knew what you were to Ivar. A womb to brew his children.

“Put a little bit of kohl on your eyes, you look tired.” Sverri snarks as you dress for the night’s work. Your head tilts, slightly to the side after him. Then you tighten the cincher on the waist of a startlingly deep blue gown.

“Do men always have a habit of hovering? Or is it just you Kings?” You throw back to him. He chuckles, rolling on the furs of your bed until he reaches the end. His dark hair waves away, scrunching his aquiline nose peppered by freckles.

“Its all of us.” He says blatantly. Then he clears his throat. “But also, your husband’s army is headed this way. As is your father’s.” 

Your fingers stop threading a dangling gold earring through the loop of your ear, instead looking straight ahead. You momentarily forget the other earring that lays in your fingertips.

“Ivar is coming?” You gasp, your lips falling into an open lipped oval.

“Did you think he would not?” Sverri snorts. “Your father on the otherhand…” He speaks as if he could not account for that one. After a few moments, he shakes the thoughts out of his head.

“Dress enticingly. I’ll summon him for an audience when he lands.” He remarks, thrusting himself off of your bed. You took to the spot where he once lay, sitting with your fingers at your lips. He was really coming. But… was it for you?


	26. Chapter IV: Not Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family is reunited.

The boys, on either side of their father, have nerves on edge. Their ships land coastside when the round moon barely kisses its light across the land. They are met by another landing party’s campground but those there were not entirely unfamiliar. Their tongue have a familiar twang, slackening the boy’s shoulders from their strain instantaneously. 

“Is it Sverri?” Hvitserk asks breaching the measly gates of the anomalous site. Sverri’s normal campsite raised the forest green flags of Yggradsil while these flags were darker in shade. The grey raised flags bore three interlocked triangles– the Valknut. It could not have been Sverri’s camp for those reasons. Besides, he is sure that Sverri made himself well in his home with you and your body. The seer told him so.

“No doubt it is Faksi who has come.” Ivar scoffs.

“Grandfather?” Veifnr chirps and skips ahead, darting within despite Ivar’s bellow out to him to come back.

Uxi shouts, “Brother WAIT!” as he darts after his younger brother. The two swerve ahead stopping as their grandfather and a man they somewhat recognize chat idly over a pitcher of mead and a conversation of battle stratagem. They look out in the dark of the night toward a dark catapult. Ivar’s walls guarding Kattegat have fallen at long last. 

“HAHA! Those are my boys! Veifnr! Uxi!” The boom of their grandfather’s voice spills out of the tent where the men spoke. Faksi was a broad built man, sporting a beard as white as spun thread and hair that had turned just the same. His hair waves in tightly knit braids on his head. The boys ran forward, clustering about his legs like ashy pups.

“Hello boys, I am King Sverri.” The man lowers to their eye level, looking between the two. His voice caramelizes with deep admiration. The boys give jarred smiles glancing between one another to him. They had met many kings. It was not the first time they met Sverri either, what with the mess he made between Kitta and you. But individually they had not talked much to him. Often they would play on their own or be sent off by any of their parents.

“I remember you.” Says Uxi folding his arms with a flat lipped expression.

Veifnr moves closer. “Hi.”

The King gives a wide shark like grin. Uxi’s words bear the threat of an impending cruel statement lurking behind them. Rather than engage Uxi he decides to speak to Veifnr, the quiet one.

“You must be Veifnr, because your mother said Uxi would be the more critical one.” He shakes his ringed finger at Uxi, his armband jiggling on his arm.

“You’ve seen mother? Is she alive?” Uxi turns with a wet gleam in his eyes. Tears that Veifnr doesn’t pay any mind to. Instead he is eager with excitement to find his mother and bring her back to their family. Somehow, he misses the fact that Sverri is the one who took their home.

As the flaps waver again, Ivar came in. The King however hardly spared him a glance. His eyes are stolen by stars in young Veifnr’s eyes. He could tell how much the young man adored his mother.

“Yes.” He assures the young boys. “I’ve kept her safe. Would you like to come see her for a late dinner?” The King invites and while Faksi grins in agreement, Ivar lurches forward. His hand sets on Veifnr’s shoulder, pushing him behind Hvitserk. Veifnr flops onto the ground with a thud and a pained grunt.

“Why would I let my sons go with you? Bring her here.” Ivar spits out in a voice lacking amusement. It could have been strategic. Whom knew what was lying in wait for them in Kattegat? If it were here, he could control whom came in and whom came out.

“I knew you would say that. Very well, let us call her. Avarr! ” He shakes his head. A messenger peeps in past Uxi who moved not to Ivar but to stand by his grandfather.

“Yes, my king?” The messenger stands upright.

Without wavering his eyes from Ivar, he addresses the messenger. “Have my Queen and her thralls set for dinner. Her husband is home.” He says. The young messenger sputters something akin to a yes, though it was strained when Ivar’s snaps his face towards him.

“Your Queen?” Ivar asks the messenger, finding that all the man could do was to nod. The messenger quickly makes himself scarce. 

The King stood with no small amount of pleasure filling his heart, taking a step forward into Ivar’s personal space. His beard prickled Ivar’s clean cut face. The young king didn’t just enjoy the way that Ivar looked at him. He enjoyed the way Ivar squirms with every notion of affection given to you by his lips.

“Yes.” He gives a ragged but pleased breath in the words he says. “My Queen.”

Ivar’s glare promises not only heat but retribution. He stalks closer, scrunching his nose in distaste for this man– this king, calling his wife his own queen. After killing his Kitta whose remains were probably deep in the ocean by now if he gave her a proper funeral. 

Rather than engage the fallen king, Sverri pivots on his heel past Ivar when he stops. A sharp exhale flits from his lips, audibly so. “Did I miss something?” Your voice refreshes the tone of a room full of men. When Ivar turned on his crutch to glance at what he is looking at, his eyes are stricken by sight of you.

A finely knit gown, tailored tight to your curves with the aid of a sole cincher. The furs that bundled around your neck, tickling your ears that were clipped by dangling jewels. It reminded him so strongly of his mother, his eyes could not tear away from your bodice. Not to look at the finely tuned braids that bundled into a sole larger one– or meet your soul striking kohl lined eyes.

“Mother!” Uxi barrels through first followed by Veifner who rams himself into the delicate sides of your dress. You laugh, winding your arms around both boys tightly. You lift them off the ground although be it so slightly and twist around in circles.

“My precious boys!” You whirl around, laughing almost too excitedly for a woman that has seen her sisterwife burned by the very man standing in front of him. When you finally stop, you glance between the younger kings in the room. Both boys are set on the floor and remain nestled against your skirts. You move to unclip your furs and hand them off to a thrall beside Sverri.

“Husband.” You address Ivar without regard for how he sailed in a hurry back for Kattegat. He knows what you are thinking. That this trip was intended only for Kattegat. Perhaps a large part of it was. You look at him as if he is nothing. As if he was amber in comparison to garnet.

“Father!” You push past Ivar to wind your arm through the tight one of your father’s firm biceps. Faksi wears a sheepish smile.

“How have you been, has this man treated you well?” Your father sets his hand atop of yours, moving out of the room with the boys locked on your skirts like worms on a leaf.

“Oh perfectly fine. Ivar has always been good to me. And Sverri behaved. ” You lie.

“He better have.” Faksi says. The conversation becomes more and more distant with the tail of your skirts draping across the ground. Then you were gone. You ran him over and left and of course you would. Perhaps he deserves as much for neglecting you so many of the days that Kitta claimed to be in need of him.

* * *

At dinner, you finally relinquish hold of your father to join Ivar’s side. He notices your affection slowly returning to him. Your hand finds its place on his thigh. Shyly though– as if you were cautious of something. King Sverri is talking, glorifying you for being such a good wife.

“I wanted to take her myself, but she is stubborn.” Sverri says. You spare him a slight mused smile, pulling your hands back to your lap in slight thought of the kiss you shared with him. Ivar didn’t know about that. If he had– he would have blown his shit then and there.

“She knows who her real husband is.” He says. “Tell me the real reason you invaded my land. It was not just to take my beautiful wives. You burned my Kitta.” Ivar’s words prick your ear disdainfully. His Kitta, his poor, poor Kitta. Your drank to the thought bitterly, almost sure that he came for his revenge. Yes, you were remourseful for what happened. But… after so many years of being second to her, you grow sick of hearing his affection for his burned queen.

“But it is. You blocked me from her. I want more of her kisses and so much more. Kitta was a disturbance to her. It is why she had to go.” Sverri says. You drop your utensil from your fingers when Ivar’s head snaps to look at you.

Ivar turns in his chair to you. “More?”

“He means the kiss I gave him before you banished him.” You cover, lying directly to his face. Lucky for you, he seems to buy such words this time. He turns back to Sverri, squeezing his nose tight. 

“If you wanted my woman, the fight was with me.” Ivar hisses. 

Sverri loses his smile. “Now that I’ve taken care of the source of her anguish it is.” 

__

_Kitta could be pleasant. She truly loved your boys, even if she was jealous of their genetic make up, and would watch them. The issue in fact lied when you were about to give birth._

_“Why can’t you stay with me? She always has you. It is my night.” She complained with a high pitch as Ivar set the blanket around the swell of your stomach. His eyes were almost caught in his eyelids with the amount of rolling he was doing today, while you lowered your eyes down to the threads of your bedding waiting the birth of your second son._

_“(Y/N) is going to give birth soon. I would drop anything for my family. Even you, if you must push the choice on me.” He replied coldly. He dropped on his ass beside you. Your heart raced a million miles at a time, stricken by the claims that your husband made. Kitta stomped out of the door._

__

“Please don’t pin this on me.” You address Sverri, glancing off to the side.

“My apologies, my queen. On top of your wife, I also want an increase in land. If this is an alliance, we should share equally. Otherwise, no agreements may be met.” The King Sverri says. Your eyes drift across the table of goods across to your father. He raises his eyebrows, jerking the corner of his lips down as if to say ‘too late for that.’ If King Sverri wanted peace– it was too late for that. You plead your father to hush with your eyes.

“First my wife, now my lands. What else? Do you want my sons too?” Ivar says, stretching his arm behind your head. Ivar’s fingers tickle your earrings as if to mock Sverri, drawing his fingers down your jaw as if presenting a rare gift.

“Surely you understand that we, as a people, should advocate for peace.” He insists.

“You have a peculiar way of showing advocacy by burning my wife. You’re not taking her. I know how long you’ve been after her.” Ivar sneers at the man, flicking his fingers in disregard for his words. The subsequent words are a bit distant to him, eyes caught up with the angle of your jaw. You flinch when Ivar’s thick fingers slide down over your jaw, stroking across your throat.

“Why did you think I would not come for you?” Ivar pulls you in, hand tight on your throat. Despite the stare of Sverri, Ivar’s dry lips tease your dangling earrings. “You belong to me.”

At a flinch of head back, you brave the words that had been on your tongue for years. “No, I belong to no one anymore.”


	27. Chapter V: More than a Womb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and Reader have a disagreement.

For so many years you were Ivar’s other wife. His baby making woman. The fertile one, the one not shared or so many other titles when someone inquired of a possible threesome with Ivar and you. But of your favourites, it was what Ivar had called you.

 

His womb.

 

There was a host of things that were buzzing around in your mind. Following those words of belonging to no one, Ivar takes you away from the table towards his camp. You wonder where your daughter was. Was she crying out for her mother? Did she even remember you? You body hits the warm furs of Ivar’s bed and he promptly swoops down. He unbuckles your tight cincher when you came back to reality by his words.

 

“Why were you showing off?” Ivar asks. He casts it to the side and starts on your laces. You lay with lips pressing one against another, allowing him to rip your dress over your head. You have a feeling events were going to replay themselves… after he promised. He promised he wouldn’t take you roughly. If he took you, you weren’t going to beg. You weren’t going to be fearful. You were (Y/N), damn it, and you didn’t need Sverri to come save you.

 

“Why would I do that?” You hum in a singsong of a voice, heightening by the growl rattling through his lips. You’re purposefully trying to piss him off.

 

“Don’t act dumb, I know you enjoy how much he wants you.” His words come out disjointed, causing palpitations in your heart as Ivar rids your body of the very last layer of dress and leaves you naked and exposed on the bed.

 

“Would you blame me? I am always second best with you. Sverri has always been different. He… wants only me.” You say. Your naked back meets the coolness of his furs. His large hands slide around your breasts, cupping the underside of your breasts and inching up toward your areolas. He pinches your pert nipples, causing you to cry out once before stilling your cries. You shudder softly as Ivar drinks your sight in, dropping his hands down along the slight catlike stripes of your stomach.

 

“He is like any man.” He whispers, bending himself down to your midsection. “He lusts.”

His lips course along the marks as you look down at him, your hand at the braiding at the back of his head. You force him to look up at you. His normally clear eyes are clouded in what you deem is worry. Ivar the Boneless, worried?

 

“But Sverri isn’t most men. He’s different.” You respond.

 

Sverri’s name has never irked him more. Your head is held high, different, sexy. He knew it. He was losing control. You could see it etched on his face. He just couldn’t take the change. The good wife had finally broken, had finally changed. It wasn’t Kitta, either.

 

“Enough!” Ivar snarls, his hands ball up in fists along the furs. He scrunches his nose up, forming wrinkles across the bridge as he speaks. “He has only ever wanted you for your body. You are not so stupid that you don’t realize that.”

 

Lust was a natural process. If he lusted after you… it was good and fine to you. So did Ivar in the beginning of your relationship. You veer to think that it was why he married you in the first place. So what would it matter if Sverri craved you? Perhaps-- its even a little exciting too.

 

“At least he sees me as a woman and not a womb to rape children into when he looks at me.” You bite back before you slide yourself onto the side despite Ivar’s desperate hovering. If he was going to chastise you– you weren’t going to listen. You weren’t going to listen to it because, well, you didn’t see it the way he did. 

That his wife-- the one he was trying so hard to make up with… was about to leave him. Your own words come out as hatefully as you’ve ever spoken to Kitta. Yet again, you bring up conception of your dead son. Guilt washes over you like a wave, wishing you could take back those foolish words. Now, you begin to think you would not be able meet the promise you made to Kitta.

__

_“If I die, will you take care of Ivar?” Kitta asked as you feed your only daughter. The boys wrestle in the dirt before you, pinning each other back. You glanced up from the soft eyes of your daughter._

_“Do we really need to speak of such grim things?” You snapped as Uxi all but flung his brother off. You clicked your tongue and jerked your finger with a quick ‘no!’ off your lips. Kitta flinged Uxi a look and he turns to her with a jesting smile._

_“I was just playing, mother.” Uxi laughed. Veifnr crawled onto his feet with scratched palms._

_“We play wrestle. That is for the animals. Are you an animal?”_

_“No mother.” You glanced back to Kitta as Uxi sent a biting glare to his brother. Her slender, pale body sat beside you. Her deep green eyes were almost pained as she spoke._

_“I had a vision.” A vision of a dark night and a roaring flame that snared her body. She recounted the heat of the flames and the dark laughter of men around. Most of all, her fears for her family._

_“He is our husband.” She said. Of course he was special. Your hand rested in hers, used to having to console her like this._

_“I will take care of him, Kitta. If it’ll shut you up.” You said as if to imply that you weren’t sure if you could take care of him. Your children were first. Always._

_“It will. Then I will give you my four days and take the three. The gods have it foretold. It can’t be long now.” You had to concede._

__

You wake up with a jump, the furs of your bed cold by your husband’s absence. In its place however, you recognize voices within the room.

 

“– redistribute his land among ourselves,” Your husband says to a mixed audience within the room.

 

“What does Faksi say?” Another voice, deep and almost rugged like thick leather. You glance up to find that both men have backs set by a bundle of braids.

 

“He agrees.”

 

As you gather the furs up to your breast, the creaking of your movement causes the men to look over at you with sharp eyes as bright as your husband’s. You immediately knew who they must be. The other Ragnarssons. Sverri was about to be overrun… if you let him be.

 

“A…ah.” You look between your loosened braids to the mere furs that cover your body. Each brother glanced to one another, then to you.

 

“These are my brothers, Bjorn and Ubbe.” Your husband says. You sit up, leaning over to get your dress when Ubbe dips down, handing it to you in a fist of fabric. He bends down to your level, balancing on his heels. You miss the few stray flyaways he used to have. Now, he has nothing but fine rolls on top of his head.

 

“Hello again Ubbe.” You say harshly. You take your dress, dropping the furs to slide it over your head. His eyes linger momentarily, a smile pricking the side of his lips.

 

“Hello (Y/N).”


	28. Chapter VI: Stolen Virginity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finally finds out the truth.

You sit on a heap of information. There are four brothers: Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk and your husband Ivar. Each of which had their own agendas for the fate of the King Sverri. Bjorn would probably be immovable, you see that from the look etched over his strong features. He would do what he was going to do because he was a man. He wasn’t your sweet Hvitserk who would go wherever the wind blew. You knew you could probably change Hvitserk’s mind given the right parameters.

But Ubbe. Ubbe was different. 

“You’re acquainted already. Good. How am I not surprised?” Ivar throws back his ale, searing bitter heat down his throat. You ignore his little snark with a roll of your kohl lined eyes. His wary ones betray the snark, eyes lined darkly with a lack of sleep and a jaw locked tight. He was jealous. Somehow, he knew that there was reason to be jealous of his eldest, full-blooded brother by the way you trill Ubbe’s voice. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ivar.” Ubbe sighs a breath out. His eyes crease in concern as you tug the dress over your head. You jerk the strands at your ribs tight to cover your breasts, snuffing the air of your lungs when you snap back to Ubbe.

“Don’t mind him, Ubbe.” You say. “He’s just jealous.”

Your toes hit the cool ground, searching for the cincher to go about your waist.

“What do I have to be jealous of, hm?” Ivar slams his mug down and the sloshing liquid spills over his tense fist. He jams his fist underneath his chin otherwise ignoring you calling him out on the obvious. He chooses to address Ubbe. “How do you know my wife?”

Clearly ill at ease, Ubbe stands back up and makes his way to his brother, setting his hand on Ivar’s cheek. At any time his brother might snap. The younger of the brothers turns his face up like hard stone falling in Ubbe’s hand. Before Ubbe can say anything, you beat him to it.

“Ubbe was my first love.” You say with clear defiance of the softness Ubbe tries to contract on his younger brother. You walk around Ubbe as Ivar throws off his older brother’s hand. How was he not surprised? Why oh why was he not surprised? Had Kitta not told him?

__

_“She’s fucked one of your brothers, you know.” Kitta said one night. Ivar had come in a wonderful mood from visiting you. He had it all. The family he always wanted and a beautiful first wife that laid on top of his ruddy furs._

_“What?” Ivar scoffs a laugh, stripping himself of his tunic and trousers both. They are shed in another direction._

_“One of your brothers.” Kitta reaffirms. “She slept with one of them. She told me that she lost her virginity to them.”_

_Ivar felt a low boil in his gut. Rage? Confusion? You never told him who the man was that stole your precious virginity. The virginity that should have rightfully belonged to him as your first husband. His mind flies to the first offending party. He couldn’t ignore it. Was it… Hvitserk?_

_“I think its Hvitserk.” She giggled and Ivar would see red._

_Hvitserk._

Suddenly spinning on his heel, he left the space with quick steps. Bjorn looks between his brothers, skating out of the room behind Ivar. Ubbe’s fingers pinch the bridge of his brow. “You could have dealt softly with him.”

You pull the heavy furs over Ivar’s spacious bed, sliding your hand across bulky pillows to collect Ivar’s old clothes from the ground. “I could have.” You say, folding creases into his trousers.

Ubbe paces to your side. “How am I to talk to him now?” He says with a twitch of his lip accentuating the high arch of his cheekbones. In a petty way, you hoped that the only thing that Ivar would think of was your relationship with Ubbe. After keeping it a secret so long as to not hurt him, you were glad that he knew.

You hoped he fucking drowned in the knowledge that it wasn’t his.

“Simple, you talk.” You snap out of your trance.

“It is not that easy for a brother who betrayed him, (Y/N).” Ubbe sighs.

Now that you thought of it, nothing was that easy. Being Ivar’s wife? It wasn’t that easy. Moving on after the shortly lived fling in Uppsala? It wasn’t that easy. There was no love lost between Ubbe and you but in Ivar’s head– you knew what he would be thinking of. His brother had your virginity under his belt. But he also had countless other women’s as well, surely he knew that.

“How would you prefer to tell him, Ubbe?” Your hand raises to sit on your plush hip. He knows at that moment he’s fucked as far as this conversation goes, eyes drifting down with every word that bites the cool chill wind that spills into the tent.

You go on.

“I spent a week balls deep in your now wife with no intent on marrying her? I slaughtered her honor and left back to Kattegat like nothing happened?” You probably should have stopped there. But you didn’t. Even with the biting hate of tears behind your eyes.

“Or perhaps I am the reason that she could not get another husband that would not share? That she could not marry Sverri Askteill?” You snap.

The folds underneath Ubbe’s eyes crinkle as you speak, glancing off across to the bassinet that is brought into the room by a few lanky thralls. You walk up to a the brunette slave, Ragnhild, to take your child of her arms. Her eyes dart to the door and you see her off with a small smile. Then you twist your head to the side with a nod as she shoots off into wherever she came. Little Aslaug was finally back into your arms. The baby had a cooling effect on your nerves. You bounce in place as she coos, speaking back to her in a sort of gibberish that Ubbe doesn’t even understand.

“If I had known… I wouldn’t have. It wasn’t like that, (Y/N)… I will make it up to you.” He murmurs, ignoring the excuses bounding around in his head. He could have said he was young– and you had a fat ass. The truth of the matter wasn’t just what laid underneath your clothes, but the way you looked at him. You looked at him like he was an actual man. Not a prince, not Ragnar’s son, but a man. Now, there seemed to be no love lost between Ubbe and you. Somewhere beyond all that hurt, you both managed to care for one another.

“Of course you will.” You say, tapping Aslaug’s slight nose. She extends her hands out to grasp your forefinger. “You will cover for me with Ivar tonight.”

“Cover for you?” Ubbe asks. He answers his own question as soon as the words slipped of his lips. “Are you going to betray him?”

It bothers you how quickly Ubbe jumps to that assertion. But… would he really be wrong? Your eyes scan Aslaug’s gentle features. “Of course not, Ubbe. What if I wanted to do something for Ivar?” You ask.

“You hate him.” Ubbe says in a matter of seconds. He’d only seen you together once and yet– he questions why you are still here in the first place.

Did you really hate him? It stops you cold, glancing up to look at your once called lover with the knowledge of what you once were to him. “I do not hate my husband.” Your voice is low, drawn out.

“You act like it, (Y/N).”

You brush past him.

* * *

You look for Ivar in all the places you thought he should be. Planning by himself or limping along the camp, even gazing out toward Sverri’s place in Kattegat. Instead of all of those places you found him in the one place you never thought you would: outside with his young sons. He watches them play chess, one piece after another. Veifnr would take a piece and move it wordlessly across the board in a game of cat and mouse. Uxi being the brash boy he was, chased after Veifnr’s wooden pieces.

“Is he using his mind this time?” You come up beside Ivar, who hunches over his crutch. Ivar spares you a slight glance.

“Does it look like it?” He snorts. “He reminds me of Bjorn.”

The uncle in question was crouched beside his little nephews, giving Uxi an unintelligible look. Uxi must have interpreted it, because he slid a piece in the opposing direction.

“It’s cheating if uncle helps you.” Veifnr says monotonously.

Uxi snorts. “It’s only cheating if he speaks.” He says. The boys banter back and forth as to what constitutes cheating while you laugh, Aslaug shifting in the wrap against your breast, sound asleep.

Ivar glances over to her. “She missed her mother.” He remarks through grit teeth. “The thralls couldn’t still her.”

Looking down at the little girl, you would have thought it to be much different. There weren’t many lactating mothers in camp. But someone else had given her breast in your absence to keep the child alive. With that in mind, you highly doubted that she would need anyone else other than a breast to call on tap.

“I’m sure she would hush for a breast.” You mumble. After a few moments, Ivar forgets completely about this false moments between his children and you. They would have to deal with Sverri– then he would have to deal with your mood after. Ivar bites his tongue at the venom threatening to spill out about Sverri. Surely he would too, the way he looked at you like that. His mind races to thought of that damn shaman so many years ago.

“Do you love him?” Ivar asks. The air is stifling, almost choke worthy, and you lean into Ivar.

“You have no faith in me for being the same man that had another wife. Who are you to be jealous, hm? Besides, you would just as soon get another.”

“I have no interest in another wife.” Ivar’s eyes slide shut, slowly opening with an obnoxious glower at your person. He hadn’t even brought up Ubbe. Which he so, so desperately desired to do. To make you shut the fuck up. His lips part almost to say something when you hush him again.

“With Kitta gone there’s no one to wet your prick… have you gone to the thralls? Or is your need why you are trying to kill Sverri? Do you miss her…?” You ask.

Ivar stands up as straight as he could manage with the crutch in his hands. “I made a promise to never take another wife. With Kitta gone, there’s no reason not to give you what you want.” Ivar says, his palm flatly on top of his ebony crutch.

“And what is that?” You ask, curious to hear it from his lips.

“Monogamy.”

Monogamy. Your heart lurches up into your throat, cursing the effect he still had on you. Why was it… that you hoped it wasn’t too late?


	29. Chapter VII: All of You

It is deep in the night when you finally put down Aslaug and deeper still when the boys decided to wind down. You tuck them into bed and slather their cheeks with full lipped kisses until Veifnr was giving you his typical dumb sleep-deprived smile.

 

“Mother.” Veifnr cooes. You move over to his side, curling away his dark hair from his sleepy slender eyes. You lay a chaste kiss to his forehead as he whines.

 

“Don’t leave us again. I can’t deal with Uxi alone.” He mumbles, looking to his strawberry haired brother snoring in deep reverberating breaths to the left of him. You slide beside Veifnr and run your fingers from the tippy top of his forehead down to his supple lips.

 

“Your mother isn’t going anywhere. Now sleep.” You pinch one of his cheeks before sliding off on your way outside. Earlier-- Ubbe promised to keep Ivar busy tonight. While he made such a promise, he stands waiting outside with hands folded one over another. A massive horse stands tall beside him, his head bent against Ubbe’s hands while he gently massaged him between the eyes.

“What are you doing Ubbe?” You laugh at his horse sniffing through his hair. He swats the horse away with a limp wrist then takes a step forward, grasping underneath your arms to haul you up onto the horse.

 

“Oof!” You exclaim.

 

“Are you sure you want to go alone?” Ubbe asks. As you steady yourself on the horse, Ubbe handing you a heavy weight woolen cloak. You drape the head of the cloak over your clean hair and nod your head.

 

“I will be fine. I’ve managed all this time without a Ragnarsson. I don’t need one now.” You reassure him, finding that his eyebrows are contorted all too seriously. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to drop the issue with those blue eyes full of expression.

 

“Gods stop looking at me like that. I would think you’re half sorry for what you did.” You bob your head with the words.

 

“Maybe a little.” Ubbe sighs. You’re sure you’re not the only one he’s hurt, but in a way, you suppose that it can’t be helped now. Your eyes hold his for what feels like years before you kick off out of camp. He regretted hurting you. Now that you were married with three children, what were you to do with that information? Nothing, you suppose. You take his apology and put away all the talk of what could have been-- or should have been. Still… it would have been far less complicated for you if you had only married Ubbe.

You know better than to go straight for Sverri. If there is a scout from either camp, you are sure they would catch wind of what was going on. No, instead you weave through your father’s camp, stopping to pitch your horse up and speak to your father. Then but an hour later you truly set out on foot for Kattegat and gain access to the great hall where your Sverri was.

 

The hall fell instantaneously quiet when you breach the doorway, man after man falling out of line from as you look for the King. He sat on Ivar’s throne, his hand under his chin while another held a golden goblet of celebratory mead. He is donned in a deep green tunic, his favourite colour. Thick, black hair tickles the scruff of his beard. Then his eyes settled upon you and he shifts his leather boots evenly onto the ground.

 

“King Sverri.” You stand with a straight back.

 

“My Queen. You’ve come back.” He outstretches his hand as if to offer you Kitta’s old chair. Aslaug’s before that. He commands one of your old thralls to fetch a drink but instead you pluck his from his fingers and take that seat you ever longed to take, Kitta’s seat. It has a plush familiarity, full and running chills up your spine. He chuckles at your brazenness, fingering a pendant of Yggdrasil between his fingers.

 

“I’ve come to talk to you privately.” You run your finger over the top of Sverri’s horn, swirling it around once. He reclines back into Ivar’s chair, fingers shaking in his excitement of finally having all he wanted. Lands for his people and a beautiful woman by his side. It would have been easy to make you stay if not for your children who were not here.

 

“What is so private that you wouldn’t discuss here?” Sverri asks in a sing song hum. He leans out and lets his fingers dance along one of your curls. He touches you more openly than your husband. For being a married woman, that was strange. But in a way, you can’t deny that it makes you feel things. As if you were the only one in the room.

“Matters of Kattegat’s queen that do not include strange men.” Your voice elevates as you stare out into the crowd of gathered men. They scatter.

 

“Come.” Sverri lets out a rippling chuckle, standing up and offering his palm out to you. You slide up to take it and he leads you past the curtains into an adjoining room. It was Kitta’s donned up in reds like she always loved. The colour made her feel sexy, powerful and dominant.

 

“You’ve gotten stronger in the last day. How did that happened so quick?” Sverri chides as he comes behind you. His breath puffs against your neck as if to allow himself to touch you. Almost, but not quite.

 

“Out of necessity, I assure you.” You say. “It is not easy to deal with Ivar in his moods or his brothers.”

 

Sverri snaps his head around so quick, you think it might pop off of his neck. “Brothers?” He asks.

 

“Mhm. Björn Ironside and Ubbe have convened with Hvitserk and my husband. Even my father. You’ve gotten our whole family back together again.” You snort.

 

He paces around your body to the bed. There he runs his hands up his handsome face and back down, scoffing with his hands at his slender hips. Then a hand shifts back up to his lips, biting so harshly on the knuckle of his forefinger that he draws blood.

 

“I thought they were at odds.” He curses himself for banking so heavily upon that. You watch his mind rushing to formulate a plan, finishing the drink of his horn and set it down on your bed of furs.

 

“Ubbe came to dwell in Ivar’s good graces. Bjorn for glory or obligation. I’m not sure which.” You say as you walk towards Sverri. His eyes are almost electric bright when they dart back to look you straight in the eyes.

 

“And you?” He asks, stepping forth to take your shoulders up in a harsh grip. His eyes are worn by stress as if momentarily, he loses control of himself. Were you by your husband’s side yet again? He would fight for you if he had to.

 

“I came to warn you to leave as soon as you can, Sverri. The gods favour Ivar.” You mutter. He releases his hold on your shoulders, fingers drifting down to catch your fingers. After a squeeze, he lets them go.

 

“A Viking doesn’t run.” He drops down onto the bed. You follow suit, scrambling to kneel on the bed beside him.

 

“But you will die. Ivar is a berserker. He won’t stop until he is sated.” You waver, sliding your hand in the loose locks that wave around his face. Strands catch on his dark beard.

 

“Then I will die. All men die.”

 

No. You lament more than he does. Sverri sees the discomfort on your face, opting twist around to grasp your waist and tug you onto his lap. As you’re faced with your king, you gasp. It felt like years since you were in his lap. It was always in the presence of others as well. This time, you were purely in private with him. There was no Kitta to intervene. No Ivar to stop Sverri from touching you. Tingles dance down your spine in the hot excitement of the moment.

 

“I do have a dying man’s wish for you… if you would… let me.” Sverri sets his forehead against yours. Your head inclines despite the closeness, his breath hot against your skin. Your flesh ripples in bumps, the effect he had on you was palpable.

 

“What is it?” You say finally breaking into a laugh laugh when he drops back onto the bed and brings you with him. Sverri rolls over, your back against the warm furs as he hovers over you.

 

This exact scene you replayed in your mind’s eye for years– how Sverri’s hair might wave and frame his pale features. Freckles popping over the bridge of his nose. His naturally pink lips curving into that ridiculously amused smile but most of all, how he looks at you in pure adoration. As if…

 

“You’ve been all I’ve thought of your years. I want to taste you.” Sverri rumbles lowly. A revelation that you’ve always known. You wondered how he might taste in your mouth. How thick he might be, the size of him in your fingers.

 

Your hands wind around his neck. “Taste me? Like a kiss? Or more?” You stutter. Ivar certainly did it before… and Ubbe did when you asked in the past. But it has been a long, long time since Ivar threw you down for that. Sverri lowers his chest against yours and cherishes the feeling.

 

“All of you, my queen, all of you.”


	30. VIII: Guiltless Pleasure

He was waiting like a good dog for permission. Above you, Sverri’s limbs quake in excitement for what might be coming. If he could just get your permission, that was. You look delighted at the prospect of sex just as he was. After all, it had been years in the making.

Twelve years ago, you met him. Twelve years was a long time to be without him. He strokes over the furs covering the bed in anticipation, body aching for permission. He sat like a hound ready to go. Just as soon as he could get you to concede. Then, he gets it.

“…okay.” You agree in a breathy whisper. You try to ignore the thought beating in your head. Ivar wouldn’t approve of this… but this had nothing to do with Ivar! He did this all the time with Kitta. He did… so you could too.

“On your stomach.” He rasps. You move accordingly, finding that your hands were yanked tight behind your back. Your fingers flinch, noticed by the king winding a cord of rope around them. They snare your wrists, burning against your bones.

“Do you trust me, my Queen?” Sverri leans down, pressing his hips against yours for incentive. Behind his trousers, you feel the hard twitch of his cock aching for you. You’ve felt it before. It certainly isn’t the first time.

“Of course.” You say while focusing on the cord sliding to a kiss of your wrists. You glare down at the bed as he alternates you back to your back, lifting your heavy skirts above your silken legs. As it drifts up your thick thighs, and inevitably away from your smooth sex, you shudder. After Ubbe, even Ivar, you felt like used goods. Now, it was different. Sverri looks at you differently. As if the very ground you walk on is made of precious metals.

“Don’t be so shy.” Sverri hums, sliding between your legs. He thrusts your legs over his shoulders while sinking down, peppering kiss over kiss along the inside of your legs.

“Wait.” You stammer. Your hands form fists while lifting your hips to his face. It doesn’t at all feel like you’re trying to command his attention… but you are.

Sverri peers up from the space in between your legs. Please don’t take it back-- you see him pleading as he looks at you. Unlike Ivar who cared not for what you wanted that night, Sverri was fully prepared to stop if this was what you wanted. 

“What is it?” He sets your hips down.

“I… I want to taste you first.” You say, struggling to sit up.

Sverri swears that his heart stops there and then-- because you’re offering something he dreamed of for years. Every night that he spent jerking himself off, moaning your name under the candlelight comes to the surface. Sverri quickly unbuckles his pants, sliding them down his perky ass. His dick bobs in the air– and like the Viking woman you are, you consider him to Ivar. He’s a thick, familiar girth with a nice length to him. His shaft curves slightly.

“Oh…” You mumble, clenching your legs together as you wiggle yourself closer and closer to the edge. Sverri thinks its adorable. The way that you look so hopefully at his swollen cock, leaning forward with desperation. Before he even has a chance to help you by guiding his length into your mouth, you’re suckling whatever you can get your tongue on.

“Hold on, hold on.” Sverri laughs cutely. His fist winds around the base, tugging on your luxuriously long hair to pull your mouth back onto his dick properly. Your long tongue winds around the head of his cock, evenly salving his tip with your tongue. You place extra attention on his slit and Sverri groans in response, his hand winding your hair around his fingers.

“Fuck.” He grumbles, fucking his hips into your mouth almost immediately. He’s impatient and it shows as he shoves himself deep into your warm mouth. Drool spills down his shaft, dribbling with a cool chill as it rolls down him. His balls are tight with his need to lose himself in pure pleasure. 

“I– I’m sorry, I won’t last.” Sverri whines. It’s been so, so long for him. You mumble unintelligibly around his shaft, hips forcing you to take him deep with every push of his hips against your silken tongue.

He’s going to cum. A bold thrust down your throat leaves Sverri jerking himself back, fisting his dick harshly in his fist with gasping moans. He pulls your hair with ginger tugs, combing your hair out of your face. With a few harsh jerks, Sverri chalks out a loud, strung out moan. Whips of his pearly seed spill over you. His warm seed streaks your lips and chin, and most obediently, you clean him with your mouth.

“Delicious.” You shoot him a small, sultry smile as he comes down from the pleasure streaking his limbs. Then sliding between your legs he smiles at you, exhausted but intent on getting what he came here for.

“My turn.” He rumbles lowly; vibrating against your eager cunt. His beard tickles your pussy lips-- then Sverri spread your lips apart. With one long swipe of his tongue, he swirls along your inner folds. The zigzag motion of his tongue finds its way to your entrance, lapping the juices spilling into his mouth.

“Fuck,” He drifts his face up, taking your clit into his mouth to suckle along the bundle of nerves. Your legs are weak with the feeling of his beard against your cunt. 

“Look at you… you’re a vision.” Sverri rasps as a lone finger breaches your cunt, sliding in slowly. You whine, bottoming your cunt down on his finger. Sverri lifts a hand to your hips, forcing them to still. He keeps his lips tight around your clit, slowly dragging out his finger and bottoming them back in. Then his fingertips wiggle, dragging back out nearly to the entrance as he seeks out the right combination to make you whimper. He finally found it in the shape of a wail, your hips fighting their damnest against his grip. Sverri lifts his face, his thumb taking over place of his tongue.

“God you’re beautiful!” He huffs, another finger joining the first. Just as you cum, the doorway was filled with gasps to the sound of your orgasmic shrieks. Sverri glances over into the doorway as you rode out the orgasm, before suckling up any juices between your legs and leading your lips into an impassioned kiss.

“What is it, boys?” Sverri murmurs without looking to the boys that have entered the room. Instead his lips swirl against your own. Your taste is thick on his lips. Boys, he said. Sverri throws your skirts back over just as you sat up, wrists burning to find your boys. Their eyes wide and blown. Meeting Veifnr’s eyes with your own, you can’t help as to think you’ve broken a promise.

You promised him you would never leave. Your son surprises you by looking away from your eyes and moving toward your body on the bed. 

“We came for our Mother.” Veifnr reaches for the axe behind his back, hacking the cord apart in a short few steps. The rope falls away and you notice that Uxi prowls the room, flipping the axe he took with him in his hand.Your fingers rub around the hot red irritation, banishing it away. Uxi shoves Sverri back on the bed, falling back rather than fighting your sons. With such a pure heart as him– you knew that there was reason for that. Sverri couldn’t kill your boys if he tried. They were guiltless in this. In all of this.

“Did he force you?” Veifnr helps you up onto weak toes while Uxi pulls the axe on his belt, whirling it into the air.

“Uxi no!” You screech, catching his attention short of the axe coming down on Sverri. Sverri’s emerald eyes crease in excitement, lips curling into a wide lipped smile that you can only say you saw on Kitta’s lips. “He didn’t force me.”

The brothers gape. “Mother—!”

“Boys, please.” You sigh. “I wanted him.”

You recline onto Veifnr, finding the loud rippling sound of boots bouncing down the Great Hall. Your heart drops when you realize those sounds were joined by another, the clipping stomp of your husband’s crutch.


	31. Chapter IX: A Wager

The clip of his crutch eventually stills. Around Ivar, two of his other brothers stood. His dark hood is drawn around his head, still smelling of his late wife. He met your eyes with his: an indecipherable amount of shame slips over your irises. How he came to know you were here-- you can only speculate. Ubbe, you think, would have kept it a secret if it meant peace and not fighting. Yet he is still here… somehow, he found out. You cringe to think that your father had been the one to tell him. 

Now his eyes glaze over your sexed body, considering you with hateful eyes. Your skin flushed, sweaty and he didn’t need to be told to know what you had done. It lasted only a fraction of a second before his jaw depresses. Your eyes flit to the side. A shrill, deep howl from the king makes the others of the Great Heathen Army back up.

Ubbe’s hand meets Hvitserk’s chest, backing him against the wall with his sword drawn. The bastard King Sverri reaches his hand out to yours in consolation and yet, you turn away. You drop your tousled skirts in exchange for cradling his sons– your sons, the children he wanted more than anything. Ivar’s boom of a howl is wordless but anyone understood well.

You betrayed him. The worst of it was; he expected as much.

_“He’s so cute.” You mutter in bed with Ivar. The first pregnancy left a two year old in a bassinet beside a shared bed, the second left your arms full with a newly born boy. Another boy to be proud of; another boy to prove the public wrong. Ivar’s arm wrapped around your shoulders before he glanced down to the small babe who fell asleep with his flaky little fingers protecting his face._

_“What will you call him?” You asked Ivar. As you nestled into the space between his arms and torso, your smile was permanently fixed on your lips. Your hair was slick with sweat after hours and hours of harsh contractions on the floor, blood between your legs as you rocked your hips in agony. The pain you bared for him: pressing out Veifnr in the twilight hours of morning. Ivar turned his head towards you._

_“You name him.” Ivar let his other hand tease your strands of hair._

_“Really?” You leaned back to look at Ivar._

_“You birthed him.” He said. As quick as day, you snapped back, Veifnr. Veifnr after Ivar’s bloodline. A tease at the dragon Fafnir, whom his grandfather slayed. He accepts as much, eyes lazily sliding closed when he heard it. Those four little words that made his chest clench tight. Breathless, he opened his eyes when you said it again._

_“I love you, Ivar.” You said. He kicked himself in the ass for shrugging off your words. Ivar’s lips wavered a sigh._

_“You say that now. Let us see when a good man comes along. I am not a good man.”_

__

He was not a good man. He craved power, land and gold. Glory for Odin and children that would walk in the right ancient ways. His voice eventually strings dry, no longer able to howl so much in pain. You flinch back, boys in your arms as Ivar breathes hard in— then exhales hard out.

“There it is.” Sverri murmurs. “Now you know just how I felt when Faksi let you marry my (Y/N). Perhaps even more.”

Sverri teases, testing the waters as Ivar’s shaking hands jump. He snarls at the offending king with the handle of his axe now in his grip. The jealous King Sverri– Faksi had told him who the other man that wanted you was. He knew his ambitions and yet, he faltered his Kitta. He could have let you go that night. But he didn’t. Ivar could never let go of his wife– or his family. Even if it meant losing his sweet Kitta.

It didn’t mean that he would let it go so easily.

“I will kill you.” Ivar flips his blade, cutting through the air in a few whirls as Sverri held himself strong. The wooden shaft fa;;s back into his hand for only seconds before he launches it through the air. Sverri swivels to the side, narrowly clipped by the axe against his ear. Blood streams down the shell of his fleshy ear. He brings the knuckles of both thumb and middle finger together, a sharp whistle ringing through Ivar’s ear.

He knew what for. His warriors spill in from the inner crevices of the hall. Those outside remain hidden as if to guard the Great Hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught you huddling your boys close to Ubbe. His older brother moves forward to hold Uxi.

“Ivar– Ivar stop!” You shout. Words reaching his ears are rejected. _I love you, Ivar_ – and he wants to believe them, take them into weight, explain what happened with his love for Kitta and comfort you. He sees red and precious little else.

“Ivar!” You call again, falling onto the ground. Ivar finally whirls around; his eyes, bloodshot and wide, to look at you when you yet again call out to him. “Please!”

“What is it woman! Do you have something else to say?!” He bellows. “How good it was that he ate of you? Or did he seed you–”

“Stop it. I don’t want to fight.” You whisper. You didn’t want him to fight. He wonders if that’s what you had in mind writhing with this stranger on top of you. Eating of your sweet cunt meant to be all his while Ivar meant to be in his tent preparing for war against Sverri. There he would lose hundreds of troops if not more, all for a wife that let a foreigner enjoy her body and destroy the homelife you both once had.

“This was destined when he killed Kitta. Our Kitta who loved you… and you betrayed me. Now I have to kill him.” He supplies the words, darkening phrase by phrase.

He hopes Kitta’s name filled you with guilt, reminding you of her fears days before her death. Those awful, blood curdling screams on the oven like heat of a funeral pyre. Kitta, the one who stepped in on your wedding day for your mother before she turned to such a beast. Kitta– who was like a second mother to Uxi and Veifnr; the two who held their words.

But their judgements felt heavy on your heart when they came in to see you in such a compromising position. If nothing else, Sverri had to be an example for his boys: never let a man make a fool of you. He would set a good example.

“He did not seed me.” You whisper. Ivar lulls his head, flicking it to the side with a scoffing laugh.

“Good– so then, when I kill him here, that will be it for the Askteil line.”

Sverri straightens himself while wiping blood from his ear. A cluster of warriors curl around King Sverri, ready at any moment to defend him. It was a death wish. Ivar expected more of the King Sverri. Perhaps he intended to kill him in some bizarre way or sent someone to raid his camps? Bjorn is back there. He thought of many excuses but none as powerful as the truth.

Maybe King Sverri was just a hopeless fool.

“Did you think it would be so easy?” Ivar roars. “To come take my lands– my wife with no allies.”

“Perhaps I did not care anymore.” He suggests, thrusting his other hand into the air. “I have been patient! I thought– it would not take long for a cripple to die. Thor will strike him down. But here you are, glory to Odin.”

Sverri drew a sword from above the bed, motioning it toward Ivar in his disgust for his life. A man like him was meant to die young. Still he was here… despite Sverri’s hope that the norns would have meant for him to die young. At least then the boys would not have been looking at him in the same way they were now.

“Sverri please.” You plead. Your ears are bleeding.

Your sweet king looks to you, vibrant eyes furious in his rare rage. “I am not going to just leave you with this monster again, (Y/N)! I am taking you.”

You glance over to Ivar and then to the other king again. “I will be fine! Just go!” 

“No.” Sverri’s lips push tightly one against another. “So that he can abuse you? Force himself again upon you? Did you think I did not hear?” 

It follows Ivar wherever he went. 

Some people condemned him but others, once they heard of the lack of sex… agreed with Ivar that it was the “right” thing to do. Ivar knows better than that. A man never forced himself upon his wife. His expression reads the guilt; though his face was as hard as it came.

“I… You struggle for the words. Pathetic tears stream down your flushed cheeks. “I’ve forgiven him Sverri.” 

The way Sverri turns up to stand straight tells you that he either doesn’t believe you, or, believes you shouldn’t forgive your husband of more than twelve years. Finally Ivar’s eyebrows contort heavily the shushing of his leather plates and crutch coming closer to Sverri. Within feet of him, Ivar swallows dryly. Through everything that had happened, he remained faithful. He made the worst decision by far taking you the way he did, yes, but the gods dealt with him harshly.

“She forgives me. Strange.” Ivar scoffs. “You see, Sverri, I don’t want to give her to you. I am the fool who took my marriage to her seriously. I filled her with children and I loved her.”

Your head snaps up.

“Then fight me at hand to hand combat. The winner takes the spoils– all of the spoils. The lands, gold and the woman.” He counters back. You hold Uxi close and strokes his hair much like his grandmother’s own. Ubbe takes the decision to stagger close in a few steps.

“Ivar you can’t–” Ubbe begins.

“Fine.” Ivar cuts off his brother.

Your heart drops. You know Ivar can handle hand to hand combat with most men. But this was no normal foot soldier. He would not have the element of surprise. Ivar was quick– but Sverri could be too. You only hope that the berserker in Ivar could stabilize him through such a fight. Yet-- you don’t even know if Sverri was a berserker either.

“No! Ivar won’t fight purely hand to hand in this sort of combat, Sverri. It is not a fair wager.” You stand up, grasping Uxi’s hand in your own. It wasn’t because Ivar wasn’t formidable. He was a berserker. He was strong. He was a Viking. But hand to hand with his crutch? You knew that Sverri was abusing opportunity.

But perhaps… it isn’t Ivar. Perhaps it is you because most of all-- you’re afraid for your husband. Your father Faksi clears his throat. Ubbe drops his hand upon your shoulder.

“Ivar can’t go back on his word, (Y/N).” He breathes lowly. “Its word between men.”


	32. Chapter X: I'm Glad It Was You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys XD I'm sorry for accidentally giving you some nasty smut.

Your husband was going to fight hand to hand combat with King Sverri. Now you never knew the King to be excellent at hand to hand, but perhaps that was why this was happening. He was banking on Ivar’s legs giving him an advantage. On the field, Ivar was superior. Even in battle, he was. Here… perhaps he stood a chance without Ivar’s trickery. Close range could go either way. It was risky. Ivar would brutalize him given the right moment.

The issue you found was… King Sverri wouldn’t underestimate him. He knew who he was and what he was capable of. In your heart, you knew Ivar was superior. Still, that didn’t stop your concern for Ivar or your love for King Sverri. In your shared room, you dress your husband as he stares at a wooden figurine between calloused fingertips.

You fold the warm cloth of his face covering around his neck. Ivar’s eyes fell to your fingers as you tighten his gloves, words scratchy in your throat. Apologize. You want to– but you can’t bring yourself to getting the words out in time.

“There.” You whisper. Ivar looks to your manicured fingertips that drift up to his soft cheek, just under high cheekbones. Abruptly, his hand catches your wrist. He angles his jaw away from you, giving you a squeeze.

“Get off.” Ivar demands.

You let him go.

Ubbe moves in line with his young brother armed with shield and sword. The oldest of the brothers huddles down besides Ivar as Hvitserk waits beside you. Bjorn’s hand cups over his scruffy, thick beard, stroking down the coarse hairs. Then he speaks.

“You need to get him into the ground, brother. That is your best chance.”

Ivar glares out of the corner of his eye to his eldest brother. It was obvious what he had to do. Why would he go at this if he thought he stood no chance?

“Make him swing and miss. You have a shield.” Ubbe adds.

“I know this.” He sneers coldly, brushing past his brothers to Uxi and Veifnr. Veifnr hides behind a blind of braided hair in the front, braids on the sides of his head pulled back tight. After a moment, he lifts his head to nod at his father.

“Father I—“ Uxi steps forward. He battles with the right words, finding the ones on his lips were shy to come out. I hope you come back. “Be ruthless father. Thor will strengthen you.”

Ivar playfully ruffles his son’s mopish air. “I will come back. I promised to take my boys raiding. Didn’t I?”

They nod. Ivar moves past you to Ubbe again. He takes the sword and snuffs from the shield. As he turns from his family Ivar took his crutch toward the midline of the circle, flipping the grip of his blade in his palm.

“Let’s start Sverri, I’m getting impatient.” Ivar calls out. He kicks rock and pebble in direction of the foreign king. On the opposing side of the circle, Sverrri was preparing himself for battle with his warriors. He turns from a group of men, wily hair clipped away from his face.

“Anxious?” Sverri suggests. His shield clatters on the dusty floor as he walked closer. If Ivar didn’t have one– he would be a coward to take his own into battle with him.

“Not even a little.” Ivar chortles.

“Good.” Sverri moved first— quick steps across the field towards Ivar. His strikes were far more haphazard and strong as he slashes at his rival. Ivar blocks such movements with a whip of his blade, eyes constantly shifting in order to knock them back. But the weight of his pounds slams him back, the immense focus it must have taken to keep upright makes your eyes shut tight.

“He doesn’t play fair.” Veifnr says low in tone, beside you. Back against yours, his eyes narrow to the scene before him. Your arms wrap around his shoulders to hold him close. “I hate him.” He adds.

The sting of blades rung and whistled when you notice something in Veifnr’s tightly knit fingers. It curves like the tail of a horn, an ashen cream… but the tips were dark.

“What do you have there?” You ask Veifnr. Sverri takes a hard sweep down, overshooting and tumbling. Ivar’s blade caught him at his side, shearing away armor and flesh at once. Blood seeps down his side, staining the side of his tunic. With a shout, he takes his hand to his side, staggering forward as Hvitserk jumps too excitedly beside you.

When Veifnr didn’t answer, you reach for his enclosed fist. Your son willingly uncurls his hand, revealing a horn in his hand. Across the shaft, you read the scratched runes that were etched. Hagalaz. The rune meaning destruction and acceptance of the human unalterable. A curse, you thought, against Sverri. Your hand snaps back just as Sverri charges for your husband, knocking Ivar off his crutch and onto the ground. The horn clatters onto the ground from your fingertips.

“What have you done?” You shake, turning your son around to face you. You kneel before him despite the sound of Ivar’s axe meeting the ground as they tumble together. You look him in the eye, your nails digging into his clothed shoulders. Ivar’s fist was deep in a mass of Sverri’s black hair, a short bladed weapon thrusting into Sverri’s back with nasty cracks. Blood spilled down Ivar’s hand, having slit himself in the process. Sverri’s stinging howls of pain sent stings of glee down Ivar’s spine, tongue protruding flatly.

“I told you mother. I hate King Sverri.” Veifnr hisses.

The runes you knew he learned from Floki the Boat Builder.

He visited and taught Veifnr many things— things you hoped he wouldn’t use in this way. Sverri’s forehead collides with Ivar’s, using the opportunity to rip his hair from Ivar’s grip. He rolls off of the younger king, grasping his sword by its grip and staggering to his feet. There’s a lot of blood and for the most part: it is his. Your head snaps back as Ivar reaches for his axe. Just barely out of his reach.

“My love just use your crutch!” You shriek. Your husband turned on his forearms, dragging himself back. Sverri’s arms hyperextend the sword back over his head.

“Father!” Ivar’s eyes snapped up to Uxi’s voice. He wished he hadn’t either, as the oldest of your sons rips out from beside Ubbe. Ubbe lurches his hand out after Uxi’s woven overtunic, missing the muddy neckline by mere inches.

You gasp, dropping Veifnr’s shoulders to dart out from behind him. “No!”

“Uxi!” Ubbe shouts out, darting with shield out. The little boy slid over his father just as Sverri swung and yet– as Ivar lurches over Uxi, no pain came. Ubbe’s steps become groggy, ambling to a stop. The corners of his lips pulling down into a frown.

A heavy weight drops over Ivar, cracking many of this bones with wet pops. He can feel the rush of blood that shunts down to the offending areas. To his sweet surprise, his little boy was unharmed– but someone else wasn’t.

“Father!” You shrill.

The hulking body of his father-in-law lays on their mixed bodies, blood drenching Sverri’s sword. He withdraws the sword as you slide in from a run along the dusty floor, rolling your father off of Ivar and Uxi.

“No Daddie no! No, no, no!” You sob into his shoulder. Your hands press down on the wound to stop the bleed. It’s of no use. Dazed, he coughs blood. You lurch over him, craddling round jawline and pressing your forehead against his. He groans something out– and you begged him to say again.

“Sessrúmnir.” He sputters. He expells air with harsh, short pants but wears the brightest of grins you had ever seen on his face. The only rival would be the first time he held Uxi in his arms. You cradle his cheek, nodding your head despite tears rolling down your cheekbones. His eyes cloud up by the second, hazy as his hands drop to his sides. They must have felt like weights.

“Yes Daddie, Sessrúmnir. You can go with Freyja…” You say, laying a kiss to the top of his forehead. His breath quickly labours, from hard to harder, until there’s nothing left.

“But I don’t want you to. I don’t know how to be without you.” Your voice scratches, frayed at the edges. Uxi’s head pops up from his father’s neck to look at his Grandfather, piqued by your sobs.

“Papa?” He mumbles.

“No Uxi.” Ivar tucks his son’s head back against his neck as he sat up.

“My… my Queen. I…” Sverri drops to your side, leaning his hands against your bloodied skirt. His filthy hands.

Whether it’s out of grief or misery, your hand curls around the knife on your father’s belt, whipping around to embed it in Sverri’s stomach. A miserable scream rips its way up your throat and you rake the blade across his stomach, slicing the blade deep within his entrails. You quickly realize what you have done, hands marred by the blood of father and lover both. But it changes nothing. You have to avenge your father… with no brothers to do it for you.

Sverri sucks in air, swallowing to avoid screaming. He falls back with your other hand against the back of his head to cushion his fall. You follow him back onto the ground, supporting his head. You hush Sverri as he fell back.

“Shh, shh… Sverri. It’s okay. I’m here.” You whisper, lips pressing against his for one last kiss. He shudders on your lips, kissing back like you had the last drops of water. Your wet hand leaves his stomach, coursing across high cheekbones and soft lips. You want to remember it all: the grassy deep green of his eyes and the mystical way he looked at you like you were his world.

His eyes droop to a close– and again, you cry out. Ivar’s heated gaze is trained on you, and still, you sob for your second loss of the day. “I’m sorry, my king. But… you. You have to go.”


	33. Chapter XI: His Only Queen

You took his kill.

Ivar could have done it, he could have killed Sverri. For his Kitta and his boys. Instead his beautiful wife leapt in to save him. Or so he looked at it. When he thought of it, perhaps you did it out of mercy in thinking how he would finish him off. The bodies had been immediately buried while Ivar made his decision. Faksi was an immediate choice to bury. Sverri out of obligation. You were torturing him. Not only did he control your father’s lands, but now, you controlled Sverri’s. There was discussion around whether he earned them. After all, you finished Sverri. Weren’t they… your lands?

You weren’t sure you wanted them. They came with blood drenched on your hands, buried deep within the one man that could have truly loved you without conditions.

Two thralls were being prepped and while they were, you hadn’t come to speak to Ivar. As a husband, he knew what his duties were. He was to be supportive to you. You lost your father and a newly acquired lover. Both of which Ragnhild and you sewed burial clothes for. It was incredibly personal and he couldn’t understand why you would want to make such things for Sverri. You should have left it to Sverri’s thralls.

Instead you slaved over a brilliant green overtunic, embroidered with the images of feather’s of Freyja’s cloak. He overheard what you said. That if Sverri had the cloak, perhaps his love might reach you in your dreams. Or something amazingly sappy that he had no time to listen to, lest he dig up Sverri himself and deface his body.

Which he thought of. Numerous times.

But he wouldn’t… because he loved you.

His heart squelched with foreign disgust as he thought of Sverri. Sverri didn’t love you: he was obsessed with thought of possessing you. The thought that you couldn’t see him at face value disgusts him. Ivar drags himself towards his new and only shared room with you, finding your eyes were a raw red with tears. Nothing had changed in the last nine days.

“Wife.” Ivar calls out in the doorway, eyes glazing over your pricked fingertips. You glance up with tired eyes, finishing the embroidery on a set of clothes for your father. You had worked day and night and finally– it was done.

“Yes… Ivar?” Your voice is scratchy and tired.

Ivar jerks his head towards the other room. “Aslaug is sleeping. Come bathe.” You glance back to the bassinet before out to your husband where his body lay in the middle of the room. His body had been ailed with such great pains since your father fell ontop of him, cracking many bones. You follow him to a large tub where Ivar had thralls heat warm water over an open flame. As you strip and slide in, Ivar pulls up a chair beside you, pulling himself up with a great deal of straining. Your head drops against the rim of the tub and you consider him for some time before he finally gives in.

“I’m not going to make you stay.” He says. “But I don’t know where we go from here.”

You didn’t know what was next. How the pain that built up in your heart the last week could be erased. Or how you could forgive Ivar for the past years of your life being in such straits. You only knew that the you from ten days ago? That you still loved Ivar but also loved Sverri. Most of all, you loved your family. A little piece of which, would never be the same without Faksi.

And what of Kitta? Did she belong in your heart?

“Did you know about all the things she put me through?” You were talking about Kitta. Of course… he knew within reason why she did what she did. She was latching onto anything she could to turn him away from you. It had worked– with her constant lips in his ear.

_She slept with your brother. I hear her begging for him on raids. I want to see Hvitserk fuck her._

“She lied to me about somethings. I saw others.” Ivar recalls how strongly she eluded that Hvitserk was the one that took the one thing he wanted from you– your virginity. At first, he didn’t care but the more he bonded to you, the more he craved it. The more he craved it, the more he resented you for giving it away. It could have been his.

Perhaps that was why you slept in bed with Hvitserk– to make him more jealous than he already was. As if such a thing was possible.

“Why didn’t you protect me?” You say, lowering your head into the water. Your eyes peep out against the line of water. You were his wife, the one who made children with him and brought them up beside him. Shouldn’t… you be the one resting peacefully at night? Instead of wondering what Kitta’s next jab would be, verbal or whispers in Ivar’s ear, strangling you.

“Which one of you was I supposed to protect?” Ivar suggests. By Veifnr’s birth, you both were picking at each other like birds at an apple. It wasn’t until you cursed her that… it changed. Ivar began to pull back, Kitta began to get all of his time and you? You had no more babies for years. Even so, you had to admit that you weren’t being quite so kind to Kitta either. But saying ‘she started it’? You’d sound like Uxi.

“I… I don’t know.” You slide down into the water. “I’m so confused. Sverri… he loved me. Didn’t he?”

Ivar bites his tongue, trying his best to keep his cool as you spoke. Even after you betrayed him– after you let Sverri’s tongue taste you, enjoy you and love you, he still wanted you. It burned him to no end to know that he did when you might not want him.

“He was obsessed.” Ivar responds. You glance up to him as Ivar’s arms fold in his chair, raising his chin. “Faksi told me he wanted to marry you when I proposed. But I bet you regret that now.”

If not for Ivar’s proposal– Kitta would still be alive. If not for Ivar’s proposal– Faksi would still be kicking ass during raids. And if not for Ivar’s proposal, perhaps Uxi, Veifnr and little Aslaug would be Sverri’s children. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it would be he that would be heated from rejection and setting off to steal you. Would you think him as sweet as Sverri?

You sink deeper into the waters. “No.”

“No?” Ivar repeats, sharp as he sits up in his chair. “What do you mean no?”

It escapes him what there was to say no about. After all, you could have had life so much easier on yourself if you had just rejected him: moved on. Ivar leaned forward as you swam to the ledge of the pool, long hair tumbling into it’s warm waters like a vision of Freyja himself. Faksi’s rumbling laugh echoes in his mind. She hails from Freyja. Why did he listen to him?

“The gods chose you for me.” You say, sighing. “I could keep my lands and moved on. But… I don’t want to leave. I don’t want my babies saying their father was the great Ivar the Boneless– and have no face to account for it.”

Ivar reclines back in his chair. “Great. Obligation for the children then.” He sneers, half hoping for something more.

“And...” You wag your finger at him. “I realize… I still love you.”

Ivar snaps his head back to you. “What?”

You sank back into the water and with it, the last string of his patience burning along with it. Ivar grasps the nearest cup of mead, thrusting it across the wall across him. “Then WHY would you fuck him?!” Ivar roars.

You stand up abruptly in the bath. Hands at those round hips he loved so much. “The same reason you FUCKED Kitta every time I needed you!”

“My wife predated you! What would you have me do? Leave her? I loved her!” He snaps out, slamming his fist on the arm of his chair. You step out of the bath, distracting him with your curves. Ivar stares at the beads of water spilling in drops across your stomach, down your hips.

“Grow a fucking pair and make her respect me! I am the mother of your three children!” You screech, hands in fists at your sides.

“You certainly didn’t act like it when they walked in on you riding his fucking tongue like a cheap whore, now did you?” Ivar bites back. He sees the look whip across your face. A mixture of pain and hurt, before it morphed to something more. The quick jab of his tongue left you crossing the room quickly, snapping his jaw around with your open palm before he could move up in his chair. The strike against his cheek was so sharp that it snapped his face around, a red outline on his pale skin.

“I am not just a daughter of Freyja, a mother or a piece of ass that you can choose when to want.” Ivar glances up to you, finding that your eyes were hard. “I am (Y/N). Your wife and queen. And you, Ivar the Boneless, will respect me as much.”

Ivar bobs his head, turning back up to face you. There’s something different– completely. Over the last week he saw the changes. You wouldn’t let him claim ownership of you. You went under his nose to try– even if it failed– to save Sverri. Now? You were standing up to him. So much of Kitta’s own traits reflected in you, and yet, all he could see was you. She was like a dull memory, ever fading away. Ivar’s tongue flicks against the corner of his mouth, thrusting himself off of his chair and onto you.

Despite the pain in his bones, he wrestles you down, gloves pulling at your knees to spread them apart and finally he would sink between them like he hadn’t in so fucking long. Your legs knock closed, enraged when you found he was between them. Ivar’s forearms pin your head in place with nowhere to go. He quickly sank his teeth within your neck tugging and pulling with hot pain streaking down your body.

His hips grind up against you despite your nails pulling at his thin overtunic, scratching at his back as he travels lower, pinching your nipples and tugging them. Your teeth ground together, grinding when you felt your breasts drip milk in between his eager digits.

“You’re leaking!” Ivar laughs.

“I fucking hate you so much! You asshole!” You shriek back. Ivar’s hand palms your naked sex, the bath having given him perfect access to your cunt. Your hips swell into a buckle, struggling against those wonderful digits that knew your body too well.

“I thought you loved me.” He works his fingers in between your slit, aiming for a button much sweeter. As his fingers moved to stroke your clit, your hips keep rolling against his. As if you could get him off.

“I take it back!” You shout out, gasping when Ivar’s fingers entered your cunt, prodding your tight entrance. “You made me– agh! Made me choose!”

So you weren’t lying to him when you said you hadn’t fucked him. You felt just as tight as he left you last. Ivar rasps a laugh, popping off your breasts with a wet smack of his lips. His fingers slip out from your cunt, sucking the juices. He rolls his eyes, pulling his pants down. “Why did you choose me? Hm? You could have slit my throat instead.”

As soon as his trousers are pulled under his ass you felt full. His cock fills up your cunt, every crevice like you were made just for him. Ivar groans, savouring the moment only seconds before he sets out a quick pace by the waving motion of his hips. You fist his tunic as Ivar moves, huffing angrily to yourself that you missed this– whether it was the sex or your ass of a husband.

“Don’t blame me for making a shit decision. You should have picked him!” Your legs hook onto his hips, desperate to keep him close. It limited his range of motion, especially with his legs as they were, but you didn’t care. You need his sole love and affection even if it was manifested anger and chaos at the moment.

“Because you’re fucking mine! That’s why!” You shriek. Your words cause Ivar’s dick to slide out of your warm cunt. Your hand shoves between your bodies to line him back into place. It’s half affectionate– begging for more of his cock. Ivar hisses when your legs around him, pulling him closer in without letting you go.He sinks back in with no other choice.

 

“Yours?” Ivar asks, bucking up your chin with his nose. He latches onto your neck, suckling tender red marks across your throat. You hiss, scratching along the back of his neck now as his hips begin to stutter in pace– some thrusts quicker and more forceful than others.

“I didn’t fight with that fucking bitch to lose you without my say so.” You snap. “You’re mine, mine, mine. You’re my king. My fucking king.”

Ivar groans as your fingers jerk back his head, teeth popping off of your neck with a hot sting. Instead you bring your teeth to his throat, leaving harsh bruising bites all over. Your hips arch up into him, welcoming Ivar’s thrusts as he shivers, claimed by your nips across his jaw now. The motion presses friction against your needy cunt and before long, harsh waves of pleasure soaked through your sensitive cunt and shoves you over.

“Let me go. I’ll fill you with child if you don’t.” He warns. His demand goes unheard.

“Shut the fuck up.” You snap back through eyes that were tightly shut. Ivar’s dick seeks out the rest of your sweet orgasm before he would allow himself to fully let go, sinking his dick deep despite his words. Ivar shudders with your legs pressing him tight, ensuring that he couldn’t pull out. Your sickly saccharine smile catches his eye as your hips tilt up into him, walls spasming around his cock. He felt trapped– and the feeling was too good to admit to. For all the times that he made you take his spunk, now you were here making him give it to you. Ivar curses harshly, spurting his seed through your willing walls. As he came back to reality, his forearm props him up as he fought for breath.

“I expect you’ll call me that now… if you stay.” Ivar grunts as your legs fell limply from his waist.

“Hm? What?” You groan, turning hazy eyes up at him. You turn to shove him over onto his back, taking his hands to pin above his head.

“Your King.” He says, glancing across your curling sex-slicked hair. “Now that you are my one and only Queen.”


	34. Chapter XII: Seven

It was the seventh day.

Today was it– you either inherited Sverri’s lands or you gave them to Ivar who was an actual king. You could stay as Ivar’s Queen and unite three lands or leave and face tremendous responsibility caring for Sverri and perhaps your father’s as well.

You knew you wanted to do.

“I will give my lands to Ivar. But… I want you to care for my father’s lands in specific, Hvitserk.” You begin to say.

You sit with Hvitserk, Ragnhild and Ivar. Aslaug lay in your arms awake. She was eating of your breast while you ate breakfast yourself. The constant feasting that had been going on the last seven days had you feeling more than a little queasy, if you were honest. So a simple breakfast of fruit was better suited to you.

“Me?” Hvitserk glances over to Ivar. His brother wore a hard smile, cup against his lips as you spoke. Hvitserk knew that Ivar was getting all that he wanted. The lands, the woman… But he wasn’t so stupid as to expect that everything was fixed just like that.

“I’m no shieldmaiden.” You murmur. “But you’re a good warrior. I’d like you to go take care of my father’s memory.”

Most women would have been eager to fight for their lands, leaving a husband that had two wives and ignored you for years. But you? You didn’t feel like Lagertha or Brynhildr. No, you were (Y/N), with two sons and a daughter whom you rather put devotion into rather than waste your time caring for lands that may or may not face an usurper. Most of all, you were tired. You wanted to enjoy some quiet.

“Alright.” Hvitserk says, his voice raising and dropping like the tide. He sounded unsure. You didn’t blame him either. It was hard to care for lands and worse so on you as you knew that you would be sending your dear friend away.

“I have another condition.” You look to Ivar with your head held high. He admits a crown looks beautiful on your head.

“What is it?” Ivar leans back in his chair.

“I am going to release my Ragnhild from her bondage in good standing and give her land.” You look to Ivar, who flicks his fingers at you.

“She’s your thrall. Do whatever you want.” He snorts. But by doing so– he knew you would be completely alone. Hvitserk would leave, Ragnhild would leave and so it would only be his family and you. Ragnhild fiddled with the many rings you had given her, twisting them on her pale fingers.

“My Queen–” Oh how sweet those words sounded off of her tongue. “I am thankful to be a free woman. But… if I may, I don’t want to leave my family.”

At that you smile. The words are probably the best ones you’ve heard all day and while Ivar can’t make you duck your head any longer, Ragnhild makes you do so in jubilation.

“I’m so glad to hear that, Ragnhild.” You say, sliding Aslaug off your breast and handing her to Ivar. He takes her up onto his chest as Veifnr sits beside you. Things were awkward, tensely so. You feel unsure what to think of your little boy who acted in so much love of his father, that he would curse someone else.

But wasn’t that how it should have been? For your father’s honour, you murdered Sverri. Perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it was knowing if you didn’t– Ivar would. You rather he die at your hands than anyone else’s. Ragnhild and Hvitserk quickly run away as the boys sit beside you.

It’s an awkward moment. Uxi seems jovial enough, chomping down as quickly as Hvitserk was earlier when Veifnr’s snide glare looks up to you.

“Do you still hate me for killing him, mother?” Veifnr asks, pushing away his porridge. You pull it back to him, barely looking up into his slanted eyes.

“Eat.” You push a spoon into his bowl. Veifnr snuffs it. You look over to your husband as if to tell him to talk to Veifnr. To tell him that his mother loved him beyond anyone or anything else. If it had been Uxi who died, you weren’t sure what you would have done. There was no other fate for sweet Sverri other then death.

“Do you?” He asks again. You already had one Ivar– you didn’t mean to have Veifnr act like his father too.

“I do not hate you my son.” You snap. “I killed him, not you.”

Ivar, seemingly confused, looks toward you. “What did he do?” He flicks his head in Veifnr’s direction. The little boy has a surly expression behind black hair that covers his sharp eyes. 

“He wrote a horn of runes against Sverri while this one,” You poked Uxi’s head. He swats your finger. “Threw himself on you. What did you do to my boys while I was away?”

Ivar laughs full of pride– he wasn’t sure what he did to his boys. Before, they detested him. You were there one and only soft place to land. But somehow, he warmed their hearts towards him. Uxi almost sacrificed himself while Veifnr put his heart in the hands of the gods. Both actions that drew immense pride, but as he told Uxi, he never wanted him to attempt that again.

“Ask them, not me.” Ivar says, his hand combing through Aslaug’s dark hair as she slept on his chest.

“He’s my father. I love him.” Uxi cuts in, showing a rare flash of his own heart. It wasn’t common for him to say such things. Uxi flicks his fruit into the air, catching it and bounding up out of his seat.

“Breakfast is spoiled. I’m going. Um, Veif?” He looks to his smaller brother– who usually hid out by himself. Veifnr looks up, “Let’s go train.”

The two boys leave and at long last, you’re stuck with your husband. You look down to your plate, noting that Veifnr still hadn’t eaten. You would have to chase him later and–

“So you’ve chosen to stay as my wife?” Ivar asks, bobbing his head in confidence. You wear a deadpan smile, nose wrinkling up in distaste.

“Don’t make me change my mind, Boneless. You make me want to smack that smile off your face.” You snap. It only makes his tongue course over his upper teeth, nodding as he looks away. After a moment, you stand and take his hand as if to pull him toward the exit. He grasps his crutch when you let him go, holding Aslaug tight as he stands up. You’re not sure how she hasn’t woke up as you weave through Kattegat to a secluded area where a great pile of ash had been– undisturbed.

Kitta.

* * *

__

_“I don’t want you to remove her remains.” You told Sverri, your hands wrapped around your waist as moved through your large room to Kitta’s own. Sverri followed after you to see what you were up to. The fine linen of her dresses were each folded into a vast pile which you arranged into a chest._

_“I thought you hated her.” Sverri said, hands behind his back as you looked over Kitta’s jewelry. The simple jewelry that she preferred, the bit of kohl she’d round those saucy and at times hateful green eyes– they all went into the chest with household items. All save her crown and a lone pair of pearl earrings you decided to keep._

_“Things are not so black and white. If you had talked to me, you would have known that.” You said. Your sister wife and one time lover could be cruel at times. But did that mean that you wished for her death? No._

_Sverri realized he made a mistake._

* * *

“What is this?” Ivar asked as you came upon the ashen site. You glanced over to Ivar, bending down in a creamy dress to peel your hands through the black soot. There, you found what you were looking for.

“Kitta.” You say– placing bone after bone on a piece of pale cloth you wove yourself. The edges were embroidered in green. With every bone you pulled out, it became harder and harder. But the worst was when you turned to face your husband, finding those choked out cries were only apart of the hot tears that spilled down his cheeks.

“Ivar…” You place the last of the bones you could find in the pile, standing up to take the Aslaug with ashen hands. She’s woken back up– bright blue eyes taking in the noise of her father’s pained screams that rip through Kattegat’s square. She’s crying too, and as you turn down to comfort Ivar– your hand shakes along his tunic. It was your fault–

“No.” Ivar interrupts, taking her skull into his hands. His thumb runs along the bones of the top. “It… it is my fault… I should have divorced her.”

 

You don’t understand. “Why would you divorce her?” You ask.

“Because it would have been easier than losing her altogether.” Ivar says, throwing you a dismissive glance. You couldn’t disagree. He just couldn’t let her go. Somehow, he believed his mother when she had told him he could have all the women he wanted.

Mother didn’t always know best.


	35. Chapter XIII: Binded

The longships were being pulled ashore. Ivar oversaw the exhumation of King Faksi– and King Sverri, bitterly so. It was the tenth day, and as such, it was time. The horses ran positively to exhaustion and were frothing with sweat, then cut up and thrown onto the ship where the Kings would lay. You were inside of one and Ivar could not help himself from dipping inside, finding that you had already dressed and laid Faksi out. Now, you were by Sverri, fixing the smallest of his braids for the afterlife. 

“The girls have seen all the good things?” You ask, tucking a braid behind Sverri’s ear. Ivar notes what you mean– her parents, relatives and master in the afterlife when she was raised over a door frame.

“Of course. It’s time. Come.” Ivar grunts. Though he says such a thing, he doesn’t say anything else as you lean to finish Sverri’s other braids, drifting over his corpse to lay a sole kiss upon his forehead. You sigh as you step off the boat, looking one last time at the various instruments and drink clustered about him. The deep green of his tunic almost glistens against his black vest and trousers.

You even hear the songs of the thralls– singing drunken goodbyes to their families. Ivar extends a gloved hand out to you. You pull the deep red of your gown up as to not trip, lacing your fingers with Ivar’s. The thrall intended to join Sverri moved to the ship as the other finished her song, handing off jewelry to the volva. Six men filed in behind the volva on top of the ship. Ivar would deliver you back just outside of the tent before he moved back inside.

A booming howl of shield and sword rang out underneath the deep howl of your king. You could just barely make out the noise under the trace feminine screams of the thrall and the deep howl of the shields.

_Do not mourn for those who died a glorious death._

_For with Odin– today is a day of rejoicing._

_They go to Valhalla, where the brave live forever._

There is a foreign ache in your heart. Valhalla, yes, where you would never see Sverri or your father Faksi again. But what a wonderful death for a King. Both Kings, you thought. It felt like only minutes before the Volva left the tent, sprinkling your face with hands slick of blood. You bend your head and wait for the six men to pass. Then Ivar comes back for you, staggering forward with crutch and a torch.

You stare. He was supposed to do this– he was supposed to light the ships. But as he holds the torch out to you, you know he wants you to do it. Your shaky hand takes the torch from his fingers and it feels like Kitta’s death is recurring fresh in your mindseye. How she held her head high as he lit her aflame. You banish the thought away as you turn to light Sverri’s, then pass both Uxi and Veifnr beside Ragnhild to your fathers.

The fire smolders hotly. You tread back, minding your step until you find the boats light aflame. When they are done, there will be a burial of the remains, but for now the other men take your torch away. Your head sits upon Ivar’s shoulder for a moment as the heat of the flames begin to take ahold, smoldering the ship as it would for hours to come.

“I’m ready to go.” You murmur after several hot moments of staring into the flames. Ivar nods, looking over to Ragnhild and Hvitserk. Both of them stand with the oldest boys– little Aslaug is still in the Great Hall with thralls that did not attend the funerals. Your head lifts and just as quickly, you both sweep back for the hall.

* * *

“These rings bind you in fealty and courage, to me.”

Veifnr was glaring down the ring presented to him– early. It was early. He was not yet old enough to take his arm ring from his father, but Ivar thought he was. He was a man now. His eyes scan beside Ivar who leans over his throne to you. A new throne of dark wood was fashioned just for his mother.

“Do you understand Veifnr?” His father says.

“Yes father. Err– my king.” He quickly corrects himself, kneeling on the steps of the throne. Ivar looks to you, then to Uxi. Before he can say a thing, Uxi’s lips peel apart.

“As do I, my king.” Ivar gives a rare smile, peeling off his father’s armband of his arm and outstretching it to Uxi.

“You will need a little more wit than Veifnr.” He suggests, allowing Uxi to take the aged metal before handing off a fresh one to Veifnr. As your sons glide their rings on, you stand up, pulling them in by their heads to plant soft kisses upon their heads. Your boys were men! Ivar motions Hvitserk closer to share a drink of ale with his boys. As uncle and father drink, you notice Ragnhild has tred closer to Hvitserk, filling his ale like she was still a lowly thrall. You sit back down with Aslaug now in your lap, caressing her soft cheeks as she sat awake.

“Ragnhild.” You called to her. She left off on saying something in Hvitserk’s ear, bobbing forward beside you. She almost kneels when you shake your hand as if to tell her not to.

“Do you need something, my Queen?” She asks in her featherlike voice. Always concerned, always sweet.

“Ragnhild… you are not a thrall. Why are you serving his ale?” You say.

The realization still doesn’t sink in. She’s still around asking if you need anything from both Hvitserk and you. It’s not becoming of a free woman even if she was of low status. She bends her head bashfully.

“I know. It… it.” She stutters, looking behind her back to where Hvitserk was, hand on his belt, leaning towards her to see if she’d come back soon. “I just realized that I will never see him again. He is going to leave soon.”

She makes sure her words are low. You pick up Aslaug, holding her under her little arms to stand up on your lap. She makes little huffs of frustration when you set her back on your lap. It was true that Hvitserk was leaving for your old home soon. He needed to make sure none of the thralls planned a rebellion. Faksi’s land boarded Ivars, but now, Ivar had come into possession of so much land. Hvitserk had to leave.

“Then marry him. What holds you back?” You suggest. Immediately she bursts into a hot red that you’ve never seen before in twelve years of knowing her. She stutters something unintelligibly under her tongue as she paces away almost too cutely. A thrall takes the pitcher of her fingers and you kneel to your level.

“Ragnhild… you are my daughter. I do not want you to be like King Sverri and I. Go tell him how you feel.” You explain in the best advice you could muster. She knows its something good to hear but in the same way, as she turns to look at Hvitserk who stands upright and cocks his eyebrows at her, she squeals.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I need to go.” She excuses herself, rushing through a crowd of men that simply swallow her up. Hvitserk glances to you and lifts his hands up as if confused why Ragnhild would just disappear.

“Where did she go?” He asks. Ivar and your sons don’t say anything as you curl him in with a finger, pulling his hacksilver pendant down.

“You marry her before you fuck her. That is a threat, brother-in-law.” Your lips spread in almost a tease– as if you don’t know how Hvitserk liked to ‘butter his biscuit’ so to speak. Margrethe, the girl Thora and tons of thralls. He would fuck anything that moved. You wouldn’t let him sully Ragnhild too.

Hvitserk draws back with a cheesy smile. “You think that little of me?” He teases. Ragnhild was different, they were the friends. It was different than the average skank that fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“You are a Ragnarsson, aren’t you?”

Well, he couldn’t deny that.

* * *

You were used to this feeling. The retching nausea that usually was a tell tale sign of what Ivar had done. You always thought of it like that. Despite Uxi being an accident and Aslaug planned, it was usually Ivar’s fault like it was with Avaldr and Veifnr. This time was different. This time you felt sick to your stomach that afternoon, back tense as you fought off need to throw up yet again.

“You’re the one who made me give you my spunk.” Ivar was sitting over in a chair, planning how best to spread his lands between those he could trust. Ubbe– he must have been thinking about him. He was still around.

“Shut up. You’re the one who made me feel like this.” You grumble, laying in bed on your side. His chair creaks and you know he’s coming over just based off how your bed creaks under his weight.

“You trapped me. What did you expect?” Ivar shifts your hair off of your shoulder, sliding his forearm over your arm on the bed to hold you in place on the bed. Not like you were going anywhere. The Queen’s throne had been empty for quite some time while you had these urges to vomit and hack up.

“Aren’t you going to go plan for a raid?” You grumble.

Ivar chuckles. “Not this year. I plan to enjoy this pregnancy. We’ve made enough land.” Ivar remarks, letting his other hand push your long hair away from your shoulder. Ivar lays a kiss atop of your head– annoyingly sweet to you. This was the affection you died for… for four whole pregnancies. To know that Ivar would come home to you alone, cuddle your stomach and kiss you just as he was doing now.

The words are almost sweet– and you turn your head up to Ivar with a nervous smile, against the lips that now tickle your ear with his fine facial hair above his lip. A smile because these were the words you wanted to hear instead of ‘Enough (Y/N), have my children (Y/N), why do I have to be here if you’re just breastfeeding (Y/N)?’ Something had changed with him. You wondered just what it was.

“You’ve never stayed to enjoy it before. Why have you changed?” You state, beginning to shift around. Ivar reclines back when you shift, a pouting face from the ache in your head pumping over and over again. Ivar glides you to rest atop of his firm chest, tucking you in with the furs atop of your body. Your body was initially as rigid as the statues of Thor in the Great Hall, but eventually, you soften. Ivar’s answer came later in nothing but a gentle whisper as you doze off.

“I could have lost you.”


	36. Chapter XIV: At Least It Was You

Ivar’s favourite part of knocking you up was watching you grow. The sickness of nausea and vomiting did nothing of pleasure for him, but to see your stomach fill out? It wasn’t only sweet, it was arousing to see how you grew. Especially for a man once tortured by his brother.

Aslaug and this new child would be a year apart. He watches you follow after him overseeing the reconstruction of walls and watch towers being built around flourishing Kattegat. The increase in land brought more people to Kattegat. Also, he is sure, more threats. He needed Hvitserk to go oversee his new lands. Ubbe– despite all their differences, commanded an army in Sverri’s lands. The Ragnarssons were controlling lands far and wide. The threat was imminent. He had to be sure to keep a hold on things here before setting out to squash any signs of rebellion.

“Why did you go to the blacksmith?” Ivar asks as you all stop in front of a tower. You set Aslaug down in front of you, holding her tiny hands to keep her upright. The chubby little girl was beginning to have the ache to walk. His little girl. Ivar turns to pet her hair.

“To fashion a chantelaine for Ragnhild.” You say, getting the lightest of grunts from your husband. To the side, Hvitserk shoveled a bit of sand and tossed it at Ragnhild. She made a long squeak of annoyance and dug up sand, tossing it at him. Not noticing that it had a rock of course, knocking him in his ass. Hvitserk! She squealed in apology, babying him like he was a child when he slipped down a ditch. A lone grin glides up the side of Ivar’s lips.

“He’s proposed?” He asks.

You guide Aslaug to walk around her father. “No.” You stop short of his back, round belly nudging against his backside. He suppresses a groan. “But he will.”

He doesn’t dare doubt you. Besides, he’s far more interested in willing his erection down before he feels the need to push you against the half constructed tower and take you himself. Ivar bothers himself with picking up his daughter and limping off in another direction. She had really become her daddie’s girl through no fault of her own. Ivar was in love.

(hr)

Ragnhild was shy.

That wasn’t like anything he was used to for a long time. Sure, Margrethe was similar… but not so innocent. She was newly free and could spread her wings, but she stayed close to family. Maybe it was the stability the thirty something year old needed.

They had known each other years. Years of fussing over (Y/N)’s marital life and the children that were like their own. Never stopping to realize… anything about the other. Now, she was acting like a thrall. Pouring his ale, fussing over his braids.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Ragnhild says, picking up the deep luscious skirts of a dress you had made for your daughter figure. He was pretty well drunk but he was used to that.

“Ragnhild.” He all but barks out, grasping her elbow. An action that for any normal, free woman would have been dishonorable. But there was no one but you to look after Ragnhild. You wouldn’t cut off his dick.

Well, maybe. But this was not the case to. Her eyes flicker back to him, a light hazelnut. Why? They seem to ask.

“I want you to… to be my bride.” He slurs. His hand falls over his face, grimacing at the sound of that. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been seeing each other in the forest, fucking her full of his seed despite you not knowing a thing about that. He’d sure be in trouble then. He had better put a ring on it now. His hand swirls about her back to her ass, guiding her closer to sit on his lap. Ragnhild sets her pale hands to his shoulders.

“I think you’re drunk.” She laughs, bopping his arm.

“Maybe a little.” He admits. “But I know what I want.”

Hvitserk slips his hand into his pocket, finding the ring in question. One he took from a princess on a raid some time ago with gold and garnet, interlocked rings throughout the band.

“Are you so sure about this?” Ragnhild asks while Hvitserk guides the ring onto her finger.

“I’m leaving for Faksi’s lands soon. Besides, if you hate me later you can always divorce me.” He laughs, assuming that she had no complaints. Women were in short supply. One that took care of his drunken ass? Less so.

Ragnhild sets her hand to her stomach as if she was unsure of something. As if she was battling with the right words and— and suddenly it hit him.

“Ragnhild? Are you… pregnant?” He bends his head down to her stomach. He could have laughed when she nods in a slow motion. Well… now he had to marry her! A part of him was still terrified that you would lop off his dick. After all, you did gut Sverri.

While the walls were being reconstructed from Sverri’s ambush, you felt a bitter confusion set over you. It did not make sense– none of it. The way Sverri occupied Kattegat, why he would do such a thing when he could have any other woman he wanted. Not that you wanted him to have another… but it would have been easier than losing him. Some days were better than others. Some days you could banish his shocking green eyes and last words he gave you in no more than a choked whisper.

At least it was you.

What were you to do with that? At least you carried the burden of executing Sverri on your conscious? You rolled onto your side, eyes fluttering closed underneath the blankets and you would stroke your round belly. Sleep wasn’t working. Your eyes slide open and instantaneously a shadowy black figure kneels on your side of the bed. Sharp bright green eyes strike the breath out of you, combined with the sweet smile you knew and loved. You inhaled sharply, scooting to the waiting arms of your husband who was apparently snapped awake long enough to yank you into his arms as you broke down in chalked out sobs.

“Ssshhh.” Ivar places his hand behind your head, willing down each of your shocking screams down. Aslaug would shift in her bassinet just as you cry out to him.

“Sv–Sverri my love! He’s haunting me!” You sob out.

Ivar’s fingers curl through your hair, holding you pressed against his chest. You were hysterical– and he knows why. What a great burden it would be to kill a lover for a greater good. Ivar’s hand cups behind your head as he allows you to weep.

“He is on his way to Valhalla, (Y/N). You will miss him and never see him again. Look.” Ivar corrects you, glancing up to the shadowy figure that still resides by the bed. He says nothing, green eyes gazing off. He turns you on your side, looking out to the figure with a light peppered beard and freckles over his wrinkled nose. You weren’t ready to see him again, and yet, Ivar tells you it will be the last time.

It looks like Sverri. The same even expression, braids set just as you had set them before his burning months ago. He must have been lingering in Kattegat for some time despite the call to go to Valhalla. It was time now. You reach out tentatively.

“I have a feeling I will never see you again, my love. I will miss you.. But… your family waits for you in Valhalla. This is goodbye.”

Somehow, as the figure shifts to black feathers through your room, you knew he would miss you too.


	37. Chapter XV: Use Him

It was still foreign to you. A pregnancy where Ivar did not leave your bed to sleep with Kitta. One where if you had pains, Ivar would notice seven days a week. Where you woke up every day of the week with his arms around you. Affectionate kisses in the morning and never pushing you to have more than rough quickies with him.

Which– you had not had since the mourning time of King Sverri and your sweet father Faksi who never lived to see his grandsons become men. Now with Ragnhild’s fingers deep inside your walls, prodding your cervix, she gave you a soft sigh.

 

“You still have not opened for him.” She states as her fingers slide out of your entrance. Ivar say beside you on a chair, leaning over with a hand clenching the ties on his legs harshly.

“It has been a long time, Ragnhild.” Ivar says, eyes sliding over her own stomach that swells with a bloat from her first child. She nods.

“She needs to give birth soon.” Ragnhild agrees. “Might I suggest using the king, my Queen?” 

Using the king? Ivar’s eyes blank in surprise. She was talking about him. Clearly of these things he knew little. You, however, knew what she meant. She meant to use him to begin your labour… something that made your skin itch.

“We haven’t had soft sex in months. Ivar thinks I am too pregnant to be rattled like the seer’s bones.” You say. It wasn’t for a lack of a need. Ivar was regularly excited for the sex when you were pregnant. More so than when you weren’t, you thought.

“He can be gentle.” She smiles at you. “It will help soften you with his seed. The more seed he gives, the better it will be.”

 

Gods, that was enough for you. Your cheeks feel hot to the touch as you sit up. “Y-Yes, thank you Ragnhild that will be it.” You say all at once, racing her out with Ivar’s cheeky grin. His head bobs.

“Stop looking so fucking arrogant.” You grumble yanking your dress down.

“You heard her.” Ivar thrusts himself off his chair, yanking the bed to climb on top. He slips himself between the space of your legs, arms on either sides of your hips. You shift your legs so that he might slip easily between them.

“This is a bad idea… “ You murmur. Soft sex you hadn’t had for so long. Even making Aslaug had not been gentle. Ivar was taken so much with thought of the other man you loved; Sverri, that he had taken you roughly.

Ivar’s hand cups your cheek, his thumb strewn across the lower lip as he looks at you. Those same, passionate eyes were electric. Your legacy with him was harsh sex, plenty of babies and a lack of slowness. You both went like harsh winds. Ivar draws you in for a short kiss, grazing lips together tentatively.

“I’m not a monster. I can be gentle.” Ivar whispers against your lips. “I can show you how gentle I am.”

His words eviscerate under his following kiss, prying your lips open enough that his tongue slips in as if to own you. There’s a familiar wetness brewing between your legs, backing down underneath him. A soft moan slips of your mouth and Ivar works his mouth against yours as if to devour you whole. You worry that this might slip into the usual rough and tumble sex and yet, you don’t need to worry at all. Ivar’s hand is locked in your hair, coiled deep in your tresses to keep your eyes on him alone. He presses his chapped lips one more time against yours before retracting, his taste on your tongue with a lone bit of spittle against your lips. You search out the hem of your dress, as if you could see it behind the huge bump that was his son.

“Let me.” Ivar interrupts you, bunching the fabric in his hands as he lifts it with your help off your body. Ivar slips down to kiss a line of butterfly kisses off your stomach, hands massaging the sides of the swell. He almost suddenly stops, fingers against the aching stretchmarks that itch mercilessly against your hips.

“I… I’m scarred more than her.” You murmur. He doesn’t need to ask who the ‘her’ is. Kitta– that is who you mean. Kitta had never given birth to his sons. She never felt the pain of these marks and looked at them as if they were disgusting.

“It’s.. It’s. Beautiful.” Ivar grunts softly. The first time you heard such things about your body from Ivar. Such words… you heard them from Sverri. It didn’t occur to you how much you missed them, missed Sverri’s soft words and the trill of his deep voice against the lift of his slender lips. But this is Ivar who raises himself to your neck, the scratch of the stubble he was trying to grow out itchy against your neck. You feel his erection poking against your body, constrained in his pants while his hand palms your breasts, aching under the swell of milk.

“What I meant was that you’re beautiful.” Ivar’s words strained, eyes struggling to keep contact with your own. He could harshly call you a ‘fucking beautiful bitch’ and slap your ass with ease. But these fluffy words are hard to tongue for him.

“I think that is the first time you’ve said that in years.” You struggle to hold your excitement for him as he rests on you for a moment, sliding his tunic off his body and then loosens his trousers. You sit up long enough to pull his trousers down, loosening the ties on his legs to rid them. He hovers above you as naked as you are, a rarity. His cock is hard with excitement, shaft weeping and tip leaking.

“Lie back.” Ivar commands. So you do– spreading your legs and waiting for him to plunder you like he usually did. It didn’t come. Instead he set another line of kisses down your stomach to the mound of your pussy, separating your lips to admire your sex. His forehead wrinkles as his blue eyes shift up, flatly licking up your cunt from entrance to clit smoothly. Your hand sets atop of your round stomach as he showers your lips in heavy kisses, wide palms pinning your shifting legs to the bed.

“Ivar.” You moan, hips shifting against his face. Ivar pulls back, running passionate kisses against the bend of your thigh after coming up for air. Your lips are hot with excitement.

“If that isn’t my favourite taste in the world.” Ivar says.

“It is?” You ask and quickly you’re met with a grunt of him.

“Mhm.” It was too much to ask him to answer, so twists his tongue along your inner folds until you squeak with pleasure. He slides up toward your clit when you nudge him in that direction.

“Demanding.” You make out his words. His hands course over your stomach, massaging little circles while he moves. The pleasure is immediate. His tongue presses against the nub to apply pressure. It’s stiff under his love, wracking pleasure where his mouth shifts and suckles you to a higher state of pleasure. Your hands drop to his braids to keep him in place as Ivar shifts a hand down to gingerly spread you open around his fingers.

“Good girl.” Ivar slips away from your clit, inducing a whine.

“Ivar.” You whimper.

He sighs, drawing his thumb against your clit before he shifts over you. “Be patient. I need inside you.”

With his mere words you feel your heart warm, radiating with an unfamiliar you experienced with him. You can’t resist the pleasure of knowing that in seconds, he might fill you with his member. He holds you tight, angling his cock against your soaked hole.

“Do you really want me?” He mumbles. Not Sverri– him. Your tongue draws over your lips, lacking breath when you nod. Ivar hangs above you, searching your eyes for an answer. It comes in the form of your hands, slight in comparison to his broad body, coursing along his sturdy arms up toward the raised muscles of his shoulders.

“Of course I do.” You say with a shaking breath, nails biting his shoulders as Ivar guides his tip forward bit by bit. He stretches you around his cock and your walls respond by swallowing up his throbbing member. You almost wish you hadn’t been facing him as when you cry out, curving your back towards him, Ivar is taking in the sight.

“Fuck… look at you.” He says breathily. Lack for hard lust— for once. For once it’s strewn by desire for your love and ache for him. He fills it as he presses the last of his shaft deep within your body. Your legs come against his waist as they love to do. Ivar curves over his son in your stomach, slowly meeting your eyes with his when his hips shift out. He plunges back in with a hissing moan. Ivar’s mouth latches to your neck, peppering you in wet kisses while garnering a smooth rhythm.

Once he has it, that smooth combination that has your lips apart for soft, pleasured whimpers, he knows he’s done well. Well enough to have you gasping for more– faster, you say.

“I need you to be mine.” He whispers.

Your head spins under his words, pleasure brewing between your legs as he lurches back and forth. His dick massages your slick walls, plundering you for all that you’re worth. He shifts to support your neck with an arm, pressing his lips to yours. He smothers you in kisses, gasping when you more than purposefully squeeze him so that he might say more. “Completely.”

“Why?” You say, pushing your hips up against his to try and take him deeper.

“Be… because.” Ivar groans, back bit by your nails deep in his back. Blood cuts the surface of his skin against the black tattoo that wraps around his back to his chest.

“Because why?” You murmur against his lips, stealing another small kiss from him.

“You’re irreplaceable.” Ivar inhales air through his nostrils, thrusts bottoming our deep within your cervix. He pumps deep inside of you, drawing out every squeal from your plump lips. Ivar’s other hand slips between your bodies, rolling his thumb against your clit. Every second he loves on your clit draws you closer and closer.

“You’re mine– mine. No one is taking you again.” His chest heaves and falls with his impending orgasm. Yes, your word is nothing more that a lilt. One that he knows means he can have you all to himself. Put to the past thought of Sverri and of Kitta to move forward.

“Oh… oh Ivar…” 

“My wife.” Ivar keens fondly, hips pumping against your deepest spots with a pleasure and a pain that break through the quiet mewls and moans of the evening. Your lips spread into something more, a scream. One of thick pleasure that signals your body spiraling into a sea of euphoria. Ivar’s brow knits tight as your walls pulse around him, dragging him deeper inside of your body as if through pure need. His slight eyebrows screw shut, desperate to hold out just a little longer.

No such thing happened– he came hard deep within your walls, the tip of his cock spurting his heavy seed against your tight cervix. Somewhere, distantly, he remarks you speaking. And so are you, you say. But all that he remarks is his hips stuttering forward to fill you as his orgasm grips him hard. He doesn’t remember when his post-orgasmic bliss came crashing upon him.

“I love you.” Ivar whispers in his hazy brain. But he only remembers your fingers in his hair smoothing over his long black tresses. He finally comes through moments later, pale cheeks full with a painful grimace at what he had just said with your fingers in his hair. What had he told you? He spoke so weakly, so freely and now, you probably thought he was like Sverri or Sigurd– Weak. You weren’t his mother to say such things to. Not after all that you had been through with him. You wouldn’t say such things to him if not in an argument and–

“I love you too, Ivar.”

Ivar slides his arm from behind your neck, smiling a great dopey smile at you. You said it. You admitted it without coercion and… He prop himself up, even as you slap the back of his head in slight embarrassment. It doesn’t matter. In a voice deep with content, he asks. “Say it again.”

_I love you._


	38. Chapter XVI: Irreplaceable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Irreplaceable. I'll be posting my extra requested pieces now.

It was bittersweet to be on this pier.

It had months since you had your youngest son, Askell, named in the likeness what occurred over the last year. The small boy held both of your hands as he attempted to bounce and bounce. Aslaug was being amused by your newest thrall; a young woman by the name of Myrun. She would take the place of Ragnhild whose arms were full of a happy little girl. Her hair was honey thick, eyes reflective of her fathers. She was born with tons of pretty hair. Hvitserk couldn’t be more proud, sweeping her from his mother’s arms. He swirled around you, leaning in with full arms.

“Miǫll is so pretty, don’t you think?” Hvitserk is beaming, rocking his chubby little daughter in his arms.You never saw a happier father.

“Yes, Hvitserk. You tell me every day.” You laugh lightly. He doesn’t care if you’ve heard it a hundred times or a thousand times. It would make up for all the days that you will miss out on. Because right now, as Uxi helps Ragnhild put her things into the ship, you are about to lose your second heartbeat of a family.

The wind catches in red and black sails. Faksi’s and Sverri’s ships have been absorbed by the raven flying through gusting air. You suppose that is how it should be. Ivar should be the king that eats up all the rest. You sigh as Hvitserk looks out to the horizon. It’s already time to go.

“We should be going.” Hvitserk tells you. “Are you going to be okay?”

Your boys were leaving.

Uxi and Veifnr were to accompany their father as promised. It would be a simple voyage. Taking in these new lands and seeing what could be fortified and what did not need to be. That meant that you would be alone with Aslaug and Askell.

“I’ll be fine.” You tell him, nodding and rolling your lip into your mouth. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hvitserk laughs. “Have to make sure Queen (Y/N) is okay.”

You laugh at that, your fingers teasing the headpiece that still feels foreign to you. It’s odd not to be ‘Lady (Y/N), married to King Ivar.’ Rather, you are the Queen of Kattegat. You added to Ivar’s lands greatly and in a way, that was why you were losing your brother in law and dearest daughter today.

“Mother, will you be okay?” Veifnr comes beside you. Your little boy had seen great changes this year. His voice was deepening as he descended into manhood.

As a little boy, he had been the one that was silently at your side. As a man, Veifnr was trying to be responsible. He was young. That was why he was going with his father on this trip.

“Is everyone going to ask me that?” You laugh lightly.

There’s a sudden clipping on the pier. Ivar, you quickly realize, coming to your side. You pull Askell up into your arms, avoiding his eyes. Your husband slides his hand under your waist to tug you closer. Lips meet lips and your shy kisses, deepened under his tongue that ate you up completely. You were somewhere distantly aware of Ragnhild slipping to take Askell away from you– and you take the opportunity to slide your hand across Ivar’s throat to the back of his head. You pull him in, savouring the shape of his lips against yours. Puffs of hot air puff against your face from his nose.

When you pull back from his sweet lips, he pushes forward, stealing another kiss and taking opportunity to push his tongue deeper within your mouth. His available hand caresses your cheek when he allows you to pull away finally.

“We’ll be back before the first frost.” Ivar whispers against your lips. The bridge of his nose nuzzles softly against yours. It would only be a little trip, Ivar promised. You knew that you would have to get used to it– the loneliness. He could feel the emptiness at Kitta’s absence as well as you could.

Of course she was a bitch, but over the years, she became one of the only two bitches you could deal with. Now she was gone. Uxi and Veifnr would leave too. That meant you would be alone with an Ivarsdottir and and Ivarsson both underneath the age of actual speaking. You had to be able to handle this.

“Thor go with you.” You murmur. “I offered sacrifice to Ran. You should be safe.”

The reasoning is more safety for you rather than for him. He’s gotten over his fear of the sea. He cocks one of slight eyebrows up at you, twisting his head.

“Is someone worried?” He teases, fingers tickling up your sides.

“No! I just don’t want you to let anything to happen to my boys. Last time, Uxi took an arrow to his leg.” You pout, dragging him in. This was what it was to be Viking; raiding and dying in the same way. Uxi holds his fist to his chest.

“That was for Veifnr!” He says, yanking his smaller brother into his chest. The wound on his leg was scarred over rather nastily. Veifnr hides behind his long, black locks of hair.

“I won’t let it happen again.” Veifnr whispers in half shame. He had to prove himself to his father! He could be as good as a Viking as his older brother, who in many ways, people already saw as a man. Not only taking an arrow for his brother but barreling in a crowd to save his father.

“You worry too much.” Ivar regards. “The gods haven’t left me.”

All these years and he is still as faithful to the gods as you are. He soothes you with such words. Ran and Aegir will stay away from the boats, Thor will be with them in their fight and at the end of the summer, they would all be back in your arms. You motion your sons over for a hug.

“Be good for your father.” You tell Uxi, drawing your fingers over his wooden pendant. Kitta’s pendant. Your eyes barely glaze over it before looking to Veifnr. “The gods are with you.”

Obediently, he nods and looks down to his own pendant given to him by Floki. The gods were here, he could feel them when his eyes closed shut, fingers tilting in the air.

“Goodbye mother.” They say as they board the boat. Ragnhild is back within the same boat, holding Miǫll. For a portion of the way anyway– they would be together with their father and uncle. Hvitserk waves cheekily to you in a final goodbye until fesitivities would join you back together again.

Ivar takes Askell into his hands. “Take care of my children.” Ivar says, running his thumb over the soft, black hair tufting on Askell’s head.

“And you take care of mine.” You retort. He sets the boy back into your arms with a small, lingering kiss to your lips. You know he wants to stay. A king– who has expended all of this time with this last pregnancy, has much to do. He could excuse the last year in Kattegat on re-establishing reinforcements, but now, he has much to do in Faksi’s and Sverri’s lands.

“Goodbye.” His hand drifts across your delicate jawline, tugging you in for once more kiss. Everyone has boarded– it was time for the king to go. He doesn’t say he loves you, but you don’t always need that. Just once. Once is enough.

“You should go, my love.” You tease, motioning him to the men standing beside him.

Ivar sighs. “I know. I have a tide to catch.”

The men board the ship with their king and as the red woolen sails flutter into the horizon, you don’t feel the relief fluttering in your bones to see him gone. The longing of a woman at home fills your bones. Like the many other women who see their husbands and daughters off today, you feel empty. You stutter forward, waving until the ships are but little specks on the fjord. You’re irreplaceable– and just maybe… so is he.


	39. Extra: Unlike the Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested fic of Prince Uxi x Reader on tumblr

Coming back from raid was the best time for the best ass. Anyone knew that the women were excited to hear stories of Valhalla, the strange people on the shores of deep and arid lands. Yeah, if he was going to fuck someone new, it was best to jump now.

Kattegat had changed. The shores weren’t only filled with those of the Mediterranean or Al-Andalus, no. There were others like those of the dark shores where he came from. Those were the women he wanted to conquer next. A group of them stood giggling as he sat on the bench beside his brother.

“You see that girl?” Uxi whispers in Veifnr’s pale ear. The thinner of the brothers turned his piercing eyes toward the girls, who all giggle and turn away. All but one girl with the darkest of eyes like the dark brown leather of his armor. No, you met Uxi’s look with one of your own.

“Yes?” Veifnr’s voice was little more than a husk when the oldest brother groaned, holding the side of his bench and leaning back dramatically.

“See?! She knows what she’s doing to me!” He growls out. Veifnr looks over to her as she sways with her deep blue gown, turning away from the crown princes. If anyone was asking him, that was as close to a ‘fuck you’ as it got. Veifnr watches the smallest of his brothers zoom by with Aslaug, then turns his face up to his big brother.

“She looks annoyed.” He says with a lack of concern. His brother could take hard news. Or so he thought.

“Nonsense.” Uxi mutters, sitting upright with bronzed hair braided back. A few fly away locks escape from the braids and hang around his face. He jumps up, dusting the tunic on his toned body. Then he takes one step forward– if only to rush back to Veifnr.

“Do you really think she looks annoyed?” He mumbles, forearm flat over the table. Veifnr nearly rolls his head, looking flat past him to the table where his mother and father sat, hands entwined and gossiping over something. Probably how anxious Uxi was acting.

“Just go talk to her. What are you getting all antsy about?” Veifnr says dully.

She’s just a woman, she’s just a woman, she’s just a woman. Uxi mutters the words to himself as he presses off again. You’ve slept with plenty of women! But as he finds himself blocking you in with his hand against the wall beside you, your smoldering eyes catch his– and his breath hitches.

“Yes?” You breathe lowly, hands around a cup of your ale. “What is it, Prince Uxi?”

You breathe the life right back into his pale cheeks, reddening somewhat shamefully as Uxi takes his ringed hand to a thin patch of ruddy hair on his jawline. There’s no telling what you’re thinking with such a plain, bored look written across your face.

“What is your name?” He asks.

“(Y/N).” You say, ducking underneath his arm and walking off through the bountiful crowd as if he was no one. Just another commoner trying to proposition you! Which… he was, but that wasn’t the point. His hands keep to himself as he presses on beside you as you pick up an apple from a large spread of fruits, bread and meat. Then you carry on– towards the exit. He had to catch you before then!

“You don’t wish to speak to me?” Uxi asks, ducking underneath a toned, thick man and the wife he was spoiling with an expensive ale.

“I don’t need to talk to men who play. I have no time for games.” You hum, caught by his hand tight around your wrist. His armring slides against your skin, cool and rich. Uxi would drag you back in, a firm grip sliding around your lower waist.

“Just a talk… that’s all I ask.” Uxi tilts his head down to you, lips grazing your forehead. He puffs hot air against your head, lips pursing to lay a sole kiss down on you. But he’s playing games. As a woman that grew around thralls and men whom were of a less than jovial nature, you know this is how women get sucked in. They listen to the pretty lies of men, toned with thick muscles that slide so right around their waists.

 

“I don’t have time for ‘just a talk’ just as I don’t have time to be tied down to you, Ivarsson.” You snap, flicking his hold off of your wrist. All too desperately Uxi reaches out again. His hold on your wrist is this time broken when you twirl around him, yanking his arm tight behind his back. He grunts, the hard keratin of his teeth against one another while you tippy toe to reach his ear.

“What did I say?” You whisper, each word biting his ear with a harder twist. He won’t shout, shame his father or mother. Instead his eyes crease as he looks back to you with his light sapphire eyes sharpening.

“Who said I wanted to play?” He suggests.

Ha! A boy like him did not want to play? He was a prince. You highly doubted he had any holy intentions for you. Men like him deflowered women and ran. They weren’t the type to stay around and plan a family with one another. In any case, you had time for neither of these things of dreams.

“Tch.” You snap your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Touch me again, Prince Uxi, and we’ll see who is playing games.”

As you bite out such words, you release his wrist. Uxi massages the soreness of his armband that has punctured its design like a tattoo against the raven that soars up his wrist. An ode to his grandfather whom most surely gave him strength as a child– to be brave. He prayed for it again as his lips spread.

“We’ll see who conquers who.” Uxi whispers just as you flick him off and walk out into the cool winter air. Beside him, he hadn’t noticed that his father came beside him with lazy but tired eyes. His gloved arms come to lazily recline on his crutch.

“She doesn’t want you.” Ivar says to his son.

Uxi’s arms are folded tight against his chest. “Not yet.” He remarks. As if she could buck him off with a pout of her lips. No, he had something to prove now after you disrespected him in front of this group of warriors. Each had been watching as you established dominance over him. But it was more than that. You would be his– because the taste of you was almost cemented on his tongue like a dream. A dream he had to taste.

Ivar flicks his head in her direction, turning away from his son at last. “Go get her then.” He says. He nearly smiles as his oldest of sons darts out the door after the woman, content to make a family of his own before long. If only he could calm you on his intention for your body.. But somehow, Ivar was sure he would.

“Ivar~” His wife calls, a smooth trill of her voice falling over his ear like the smoothest of Freyja’s songs. Because if cripple few loved could find a beautiful wife, love would be no problem for Uxi.


	40. Extra: Initiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Platonic request of Aslaug x Ivar [Platonic]

She’ll always be her father’s princess.

He meant those words. He constantly kept an eye on his jewel– the only daughter you had given him. It was one more than his father had. One of seven children that you had blessed him with. For all the trouble, for the pain of his loss of Kitta, he was well rewarded in children. Save little Avaldr whom never had his chance.

No, no. He wouldn’t think of his son now. He would think of his daughter whom was a constant flower upon the Great Hall’s wall. You always assured him that she would need her distance from the Ivarssons and he, but he never imagined that you would play a game of wit and riddle with this boy.

A prince that couldn’t just mysteriously go vanishing without good reason. Ivar was stewing on his throne, long hair braided back by your loving fingers over the other side of his sharp features.

“Do you think she wants him?” Ivar asks you. He knows the answer. His dark haired princess with hair that could rival yours was interested. The way her eyes glistened like the most ravenous of seas told him all he needed to know.

“Aslaug?” You hum, looking out toward your slender daughter. There she sat, ringed fingers under her sharp jawline as she listened to his riddle. The way she smoothed out her deep wine coloured dress told you that she had solved the riddle. For she did that when she was proud. Then she stood up, offering her long hand out to them. Ivar lurches in his chair, steadied by your hand across his chest.

“She needs to choose. You promised her.” You purse your lips at him.

But what would you know? Ivar wants to say. You chose Ubbe. Ubbe who left you with child as he later learned deep in his years with you. His knuckles beat on the arm of his chair in his frustration. You were right… and deep in his gut, he felt a churning.

Something was wrong.

A father always knew when something was awry.

You were a mother. There were things that you understood. Love, children, family– these things. But when it came to the protection of his family, it was his job. He failed once before. He wasn’t going to fail again. He had tried to give Aslaug the space you asked him to.

But in the end, he was only Viking. A Viking man with one beautiful daughter who could be sullied and abused just as you had. She could find herself married to someone as awful as he was. Someone that would keep her for twelve years in an abusive relationship and never look back. Ivar’s crutch was tight under his tunic, clacking the ground with every motion he took.

He would just take a look. A look to make sure she was safe. He was not going to sit outside the house and loiter. No this was to reassure himself that his girl was safe. There would be no abuse, no sobbing tears when he left or ache of his heart to see her in such a state.

It was only seconds later that he heard the bewildered and harsh gasps. At first, sex. He thought it was sex– and if he wouldn’t rip off the man’s balls. But something flowed in the undercurrent of that breath. They were too forced.

And as his tunic swirled about him inside like a tempest, there was a ragged scream. Not the deep commanding voice of his daughter, plagued with playful jubilee. These screams were harsh and deep like a young man’s own. Ivar immediately knew that somewhere below that ball of muscle was Aslaug, thrusting a sharp and pointed dagger repeatedly against the man’s chest. Ivar reclined onto his crutch, closing the door behind him with a click of the lock when his daughter thrust the body beside her off, the torn shoulders of her dress exposing arm and a pale portion of the meat of her breast.

It was so sudden that she slipped her hand into her cincher, striking the prince in the throat to cease his pathetic cries with a warpick Ivar made for her twelfth birthday.

“Disgusting–” She says, lurching her bare leg over him. “May you never reach Valhalla, coward.”

The blood below her soaked the panels of wood plating the floor of this cabin, thick like syrup while the blond haired prince oozed out.

“You know, your mother did the exact same thing to a lover of hers.” Ivar said from the entrance. Aslaug’s head would snap in his direction, arm raised over her shoulder as if to chuck a pick at him when she realized– it was her father.He wasn’t angry? She can hardly believe it.

“Daddie.” Aslaug’s hand snaps to her torn dress. “He had it coming.”

No debate in his mind. Ivar grasps a chair beside him to lower onto the ground, his nonexistent bones becoming more and more painful in his older age. His worn hands are calloused, hard. He carries himself closer to his daughter, legs carrying limply behind him.

“Yes.” He grunts. “He did.”

No remourse was purchased in his voice. A man that forced himself on a free Viking woman was no man at all. Any Viking would attest to that.

“I’ve made a mess of your alliance.” Guilt weighs heavy in her voice for a millisecond. “But don’t think I’m sorry, I would kill him again!”

Ivar snickers. “No one will blame you for defending yourself.”

Viking ideology was that the woman was always right– always. If she told him that he had forced himself on her, it was the truth. By the condition of his daughter’s dress, it would be the truth. Ivar sweeps his furs from his shoulders and drape them over her shoulders. Her eyes are yet still firm and prideful, despite a glimmer of shame.

“I don’t need comforting, Daddie.” Aslaug pushes herself up from the puddle of blood that dies Ivar’s leather gloves a whole new colour.

“No, no. Of course not.” Ivar grunts, turning around on his hands to drag himself back to the door. She follows after. “You are Viking.”

He stops just before the door, dragging himself onto the chair before taking ahold of the crutch to stand back up. His freehand collides with his daughter’s shoulder, searching her almond shaped eyes for any fear. He finds none there– nor anywhere else in her heartshaped face.

“We will consider this an initiation.” He shakes her shoulder once.

“An initiation of what? Congratulations on your first murder, Ivarsdottir?” She pulls her furs around her chest, flicking her head to the body. Ivar takes back his bloody palm, licking a line from wrist to the tip of his third finger.

“Of becoming a shieldmaiden.”

With that, he breaks out the door. Aslaug bites back a stupid smile on slender lips. She liked the sound of that. Much more than becoming a woman in a placid future, pushing baby after baby out of her womb. 

Aslaug was made for greater things.


	41. 1k Celebration: Age Already

His wife had given him many children. Your womb had been filled many times over– and Ivar knew you were exhausted. How many times had he bent you over and filled you by his seed? He had been trying his best to pull himself out when he felt the need to cum, jerking himself off over your smoothly shaved pussy until he came. You were still in child birthing years, early in your forties where he could still likely impregnate you. You had been a good wife. A tenth child could have been a blessing if it came. But to impregnate you on purpose just as he used to? He couldn’t do that.

You deserved a bit of quiet. You raised all his children in the right ways, and the youngest was still a handful with a feisty temper. He couldn’t wait for you to get out of these childbearing years so that he might be able to cum inside of you like he used to. And yet– he quickly realized years ago that there would always be lurkers.

He hardly had many friends, but if he had, it would have been the young Earl whom always lended him a hand in raids or plots.

“My Queen. May I ask you for something? With the blessing of our king of course.” 

As he looks to Ivar, the king nods. The Earl was young. His eyes were that of snakes, coursing over your delicate features which to his horror, hadn’t aged as quickly as he hoped. Yes, you look mature. No longer in your twenties and freshly out of your thirties. You are a woman in your forties and god, you were beautiful as the day he met you.

“Yes?” Your hands clasp one over another.

“My wife is incapable of birthing sons… I have a great number of daughters. I know that you are of older age…” Your eyes furrow as if to dare him to insult you. “But you are still a blessing from Freyja for Ivar. You are stunning. It’s no wonder King Sverri desired you.”

His sons sat beside him; all five of them listening. Even the smallest of age heard the words that set their father on edge. Ivar was eating with them to talk of Uxi’s latest raid in which his wife and he brought back a bounty of thralls and the strangest gems. But hearing talk of Sverri turned Veifnr, Uxi and Ivar in the direction of the earl. The younger of the sons followed suit. Most notably, the one you named after the King Sverri himself– Askell.

“I am old enough to be your mother. I am in my forties, my earl.”

“Kåre.” He corrects. “But you are still in childbirthing years.”

“Should we beat him?” Uxi’s arms fold one over another, leaning into his father’s ear with a short, budding beard shaped like his uncle Ubbe’s own.

“What is it with you and beating?” Ivar snaps. His anger in his old age was curved, of course, but his jealousy never wavered. That meant his anger never wavered either.

“We would love a son of Freyja.. , if my friend allows. I know he is a little jealous of the attention you gather in his old age.” The Earl shifts up the steps, each step a little closer. Ivar is at another table, glancing over his shoulder when you look to meet your husband’s eyes, desperate for him to speak.

“But I promise it will only be one.” The Earl bends onto one knee, grasping your hand in his. That’s when Ivar snaps, shoving himself onto his crutch and lurching towards the steps. Your attention snaps up toward him– eyes weakening when Ivar shoves his young friend back.

“My wife has given me nine children. That’s enough.”

Your husband holds out his hand toward you, offering to help you down the steps. Gladly you move to take his hand, and Ivar turns you in his arms for a passionate kiss, running his lips against yours and then some– lower.

“Ivar…” You moan just as Ivar’s head tilts, the scruff of his beard scratching against your neck with every smooth motion of his tongue across your neck. Of such age and Ivar still treats you as if you were newly married and expectant of the love that Ivar would give to you to make your first son.

“Father!” His youngest of sons whines, snuffed quiet when Ivar tosses something in his general direction, walking you back toward your shared room. Curtains fall behind to obscure anyone’s view. The back of your knees hit the bed and you fall upon it.

“Do you know how tired I am of hearing that?” Ivar loosens his belts. “I want you to age.”

Your fingers aid his in loosening your belt, giggly as hell when Ivar yanks his tunic off before commanding your dress in another direction. Your nipples peak in the winter cold, running your fingers over your smooth stomach to a valley of child-love marks.

“Oh Ivar.” You lean up, hands at his scruffy beard to cradle his jawline. “I do wish you would shave.”

“Enough of that.” Ivar hisses, sinking between your legs. Your knees fall over his shoulders, weaving through his loose dark hair in preparation for the pleasure. Ivar’s tongue glides over your lips in one smooth, pleasurable lick from your well loved entrance up toward your mound.

“You’re overreacting.” You murmur, gasping with every sweet lick beginning to draw your walls to slick.

“He comes here asking for you to have the last of your children?” Ivar pulls up from your cunt, huffing as if he were insulted. His thick thumb spreads your lips apart, running his tongue across the inner folds with pleasure. You moan in response to his digits that massage your lips to excitement. The slick begins to spill down over his tongue and he devours it too hungrily. When he pulls from your cunt to slide the middle of his thick fingers into your warm channel, your hips shift upon his fingers.

“Oh, mmm.” You reach to pull him up. He crawls up your naked body when you reach for his woolen collar, moving your lips against his while his long digits shift and push inside of your sopping wet hole. “He just wants a son.”

His fingers dig in to his first knuckle at your insistence that his friend was only thinking of his line. Ivar could understand that as a man that longed for the many sons you supplied him… and one lone daughter. He breaks a wet kiss with a slap against your cunt, loosening his trousers. He jerks them over his ass, pulling his cock into the cool air. Your knees knock together to tease him with soft, fake complaints.

“You want his sons?” He accuses, holding himself up with one hand and knocking your legs apart with his hips and hand both. Your legs slide willingly apart so that he can guide his cock between your folds. Ivar grasps the root of his cock, rubbing his fat tip against your pussy lips. Your excitement smears over his head, coating him down with your love. He shoves his cock within you with more pressure than you can give into, sliding himself into your cunt inch by inch until he hilts out of pure show for the way he can make your back arch. Ivar knows how you enjoy his initial penetration and the tingles dance up your spine with every thrust of his hips forward.

“Ohhh fuccck, noo. No.” You gasp as he cradles your head between his forearms. Your legs dangle as they usually do about his hips. You moan softly with Ivar’s hands cupping your cheeks to force you to look at him.

“Whose sons do you want, hm?” He asks, annunciating his words with a plunging thrust each time. He slips within your silken walls, sliding within your smooth walls without much effort. As you gaze upon him, it’s almost as if you’re looking at that handsome young man you met once upon a time sitting in line with his beautiful wife Kitta.

“Yours!” Ivar glazes his thumb against your fat lower lip, squeezing your cheeks. He lurches over you, keeping your mouth open with a low, pleasant hiss to his voice.

“That’s right, you beautiful bitch.” He hums, welling up his saliva. Then he leans in, slowly oozing his warm saliva into your mouth in a slow ooze. Your cunt clenches beautifully around his shaft, rolling your hips up into him like a wave. “My damn babies.”

His hand leaves the side of your face, gliding his palm down to push down upon your throat with concrete tension. Your legs begin to numb with his large body warming between them, owning your cunt with every thrust.

“If you want them so much, by all means take my seed!” His voice rumbles with his pleasure. You squeal so beautifully underneath him, squirming as if to play that you didn’t want it when in fact he knows you do. His other forearm presses down above your head on his plush pillows, eyebrows tight with tension when he finds himself cumming. Bursts of his sticky seed pump inside of your clenching walls like he’s so missed over the past few years.

He comes down from his orgasm, pulling himself free. Some of his cum dribbles out of your beautifully filled pussy. Ivar spits on his fingers before lurching his fingers down, shoving his fat fingers in a beckoning motion to look for the right spot.

“Cum.” He demands, bruises forming on your throat under his grip. His fingers squish and ooze with his sticky seed, gazing at your chest heaving and falling. Your nipples are hard with excitement and yet finally you cum, creaming his fingers. Your beautiful screams fill the chambers and much to his pride– spill out of the room. Then he looks to you, shoving his fingers into his mouth to eat of the joining of your excitement with his own. As your chest swells and falls with breath, Ivar looks to your abused body drooling his essence all over the English silk sheets. His hand runs up over his forehead to ruffle his loose hair.

“Every fucking time I think we’re done with babies.”


	42. 1k Celebration: That Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU requested on tumblr

Kitta had an eye for bringing others into their bed. They had to be one of two things: meeker than her or uglier than her. You were certainly neither, sitting by a girl a grade younger than you with the attention of another boy or two.

“Ivar.” Kitta slaps her boyfriend’s chest. His sleepy blue eyes part open from a nap.

“Nnn, what?” He asks.

Kitta lowers herself to her man’s level. “You see that girl?” She presses his boyish cheek in your direction. You sit upon brick and cement railings on the few steps up to the gym.

“(Y/N)? The beauty queen?” He murmurs, rolling on his side in interest. He doesn’t even have to ask.

“I want her.” Kitta says.

“So go get her.” Ivar answers, giving her an encouraging pat to the ass. Not that a woman like his ever needed encouragement. She stomps through the men, plopping beside you. In seconds, she kisses your knuckles flirtatiously. He wonders one thing. You certainly weren’t ugly— so you had better be meek.

He couldn’t be more wrong.


	43. 1k Celebration: Crack Open the Skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats on 1k! I love irreplaceable and have missed it (not that all your other work isn’t also amazing haha) so this is exciting to see! I always had this little headcanon of Ivar waking up one night during a severe thunderstorm and one of the kids is awake and in their bed because the storm has frightened him a bit. Ivar explains as sweetly as Ivar can lol that’s it’s just Thor and it comforts him even though he notes that Thor seems especially loud tonight. I also imagine other babes in the bed as well because daddy ivar and large family 😍 I always wondered how sweet it would come out if you were to write a full one shot of it and I figured this was the perfect opportunity if you were still accepting entries and were willing. Congrats again and thank you for all your amazing work! 😘

Like his father before him, Ivar grew to know the signs of a storm brewing.

In his bed, Ivar had a beautiful wife. After Sverri sought to take all the good things in his life, he was on edge. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time someone dared threaten him for your hand. This disturbance, however, wasn’t about the jewel in his bed. It wasn’t about your small smiles or maybe even his toddlers that were snug against your breast and back.

“Aslaug.”

He sits up in his bed. At the foot of his bed is a small blonde girl; her thin frame rubbing sleep of her bright blue eyes. Her naked feet are against the warm furs that you lay out every night before bed– so that when he crawls out every day, its onto the furs and not the cold floorboards.

“What is it?” He motions her closer. Her blonde curls bounce along her shoulders, climbing on top of the bed to sit between her father’s unbound legs. He lazily drapes his arms over her shoulders to pull her back against his tattooed chest reassuringly. Her back snaps in response to a crack– one he quickly realizes is the storm that has come over Kattegat suddenly in the night.

“I’m scared.” She admits without fear. Even his boys would not do such a thing. Veifnr was still afraid of fucking up on raids and was often jittery

“There is nothing to fear.” Ivar says. “It is Thor.”

Thor? She chirps. She had heard the name before at certain gatherings, traditions and by word of your mouth. More commonly you worshipped Odin, your all father, and Freyja… her rumoured grandmother. Aslaug has heard many stories of them. Thor has also been spoken of but far less.

“Your grandmother, my mother, said he is beating his hammer, bringing down the rain.” He tells her. Her tiny hands come upon his, contrasting against his calloused skin. She’s dainty and beautiful– and he knows his daughter will have many suitors.

He’d kill them.

“Why is he so obnoxious?” She places her hands to her ears. “Does he sleep?”

Ivar’s lips pull to a warm smile. That was his witty girl.“He is pleased with our campaign against the Christians. That is why he is blessing us with harvest for the blood spilled.” 

“I want to go raiding like Uxi and Veifnr too. Then Thor might crack the skies open for me too.” She rubs her eyes, flopping her head limply against his chest as Ivar rolls onto his side beside her other two siblings in bed.

“You will.” Ivar assures his growing girl, proud of his daughters devotion to the good and old ways. “You gladly will.”


	44. 1k Celebration: Thief

After five years of being a single wife with Ivar, it never seemed to jar you how Ivar slipped into his role as a father. With no more time to be spent on Kitta, it was spent with his children. You sat in bed, stroking the curve of your newest child on the way. Ivar was on the dusty planks of the ground, slipping out of his braces when your two year old, Jóarr sneaks behind him.

“Your son is taking your crutch again, Ivar.” You point after the young boy, hopping on his father’s crutch if only to watch Ivar snap around, looking toward where you were motioning. His little son with golden hair down his shoulders laughs, taking several little steps back. 

“C’mere you little shit.” Ivar lurches out towards his son. A narrow miss, he twists to land on his forearms like a bear, dragging himself over the ground toward Jóarr with fiersome growls ripping up his thick throat. You laugh, clicking your tongue at him.

“Hurry, hurry, the lindworm is after you.” You laugh, sitting up when your little boy tosses the crutch onto your bed and climbs it as quickly as he can with his father after him. Ivar bonks into the side of his bed, reaching up to grasp the wooden curve of the his bed, the one his father once shared with his wives.

“Modir’s boy.” He scrambles upon the sheets. Jóarr squeals in response, digging into your side on the sheets. You wind your arm around him, holding him close.

“Don’t act like you weren’t yourself. I’ll protect you from this snake Jóarr.”

Ivar scoffs. “You? You are only a spoiled pregnant queen.” He lunges, teasing his fingers over the boy’s chubby sides. You lift your son onto your lap, leaning up to touch his nose with your own. The way your face drops 

”And you are a king that will sleep with your brother tonight.” You say. Ivar gawks in response. 

“I am the king! You can’t throw me out of my own bed.” He grinds his teeth together. You would show him otherwise. 

“Jóarr, lindworms don’t sleep with Queens, isn’t that right?” You ask your son. Ivar turns his gaze over to the little boy as if to warn him on that answer. Of course, as a mothers boy, his little finger points toward the doorway.

Out out!


	45. 1k Celebration: What You Can't Take Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello Sy, are you still taking request for the Irreplaceble 1k celebration? If you do so, I would love to see an old Ivar during a summer festival and he sees a young couple (maybe one of his children with their boo) with holding hands together and similing to each other like if they are looking for the most precious thing in the nine worlds so he remembers Kitta (maybe the first time he sees her, their wedding, you know, those real moments between them) and that he lost her.

This festival was the hardest for Ivar.

The death of Odin’s beloved son was celebrated in this section of the year. Where the maypole was kissed the cloudless sky, coated in greeneries and the most luxurious of flowers. Her most favourite red tapestries are raised in his own way of remembrance with his beautiful wife’s agreement that it is how it should be. 

Around a hot bonfire, Uxi stood beside his newest prize. Not a prize in the sense that she was exchangeable no, but after she denied him for a full year, she finally began to come around to his affections. Her dark skin brightens by the orange wisps of the flame, contrasting against the very gentle sunset behind her. It had been a long day and finally, finally the sun was beginning to set.

“You throw it in.” Ivar overhears his oldest son say, taking her hand as if to do it himself. Ivar sits staring off, his hands tight around a aged cane that had seen many, many battles. His bones are warm sitting so close to the fire. His other children have all gone off this way of that way, save little Helga who stood braiding his hair behind him. His son’s woman turns to bop Uxi’s chest playfully.

“You have your own offering!” Her coal like eyes glitter when Uxi tosses his offering into the flame, crackling and singing with Loki’s pleasure. Then he comes back around to wind his arms around her waist. His eyes spot the wooden charm– a helm of awe, beating on Uxi’s toned chest.

Then, he remembers.

_“To King Ragnar!” He dragged himself around the ground over their campsite when he caught her first words. Near a warm campsite, she stood on top of a table, her trousers and boots still on. She was covered– head to toe in matted red blood. Her long blonde hair was so filthy._

_“Shieldmaidens…” Ivar rolled his eyes. To his surprise, he caught her in a spin. She turned her foxish eyes to him, focusing like the eyes of a falcon, streaked from head to toe in the blood of Christians. He never saw a sight so rattling. Then with large steps she crossed the tabletop with a cup of horn, stepped down with two rattling shakes of her feet. She lowered herself onto one knee before him. Ivar dragged his heavy feet around to face her. Her only thrall brought her another cup of which she curiously poured her own drink into first._

_“Were you talking to me, Ragnarsson?”_

_She picked a fight with him. It should have been a death wish. Instead of that, by far, she plopped down beside him and poured herself a new drink. With a long gulp and her hand on the pommel of her sword, she grinned toothily at him. He didn’t even think of touching his war pick– for once._

As beautiful as his first wife had been in blood, he can still see her in the way the fires churned. The vision of his Kitta, donned in a red wedding dress and fitting flower crown is so etched in the forefront of his brain, Ivar’s hand comes to his flat forehead. He should have done it. He should have just divorced her. If– if he could only take it back, beat himself for his selfishness in thinking that he could keep his best friend and first love here, with him.

Then she died in flames. 

“Ivar.” You rattle him awake, knowing exactly what was happening. “Are you okay?”

Ivar looks to you, primed and proper without so much as a scar on your body, but rather, the stretchmarks of labour. Worlds apart from Kitta. Ivar turns his eyes away from the flames and takes your hand.

“I’m fine.”


	47. 1k Celebration: The Price of Stubborness

He always knew he wanted to come here.

The farm long since abandoned on the outskirts of Kattegat. No one was there to carry on his mother’s line. Her frowns may have been etched on his mother’s mind, but for young Uxi, he remembered each moment that smile… began to curve upwards. When he did something right. The first time he knocked the sword of another boy’s hand. The first time that he defended Kitta to his father for her clinginess. Every little smile burned like the hot coals he recalled seeing that fateful night.

 _“Keep your head low, my loves.”_ Ragnhild had pushed their heads in line, skittering behind house and alley on that cool night. A smoke clogged up his nostrils, choking his lungs when he too heard it.

 _Ivar!_  
One word he would never forget. Not solely because he was proud of his father, but because the screams that tore up his mother’s throat were ragged, cough filled and desperate. He almost jerked out from underneath Ragnhild’s watchful gaze if not for his other mother’s fateful words. 

_Are you a man, Uxi?_  
So under the cover of billowing smoke and a red hot flames that his mother so begged Sverri to put out did he manage to skate out with Ragnhild and his siblings that night. To take a ship that would be manageable to take toward his father’s newly acquired lands with a crew that knew whom they were and remained faithful to his father.

Now he was grown. In his arms he bore his first born son. A beautiful stonehead marked the place where his mother Kitta was buried. Large and proud, glistening with the runes that he etched with his father. It had been a rare choice to entwine the rock with snakes and flames, but one that fit her in life– and in death.

Kitta Aesgirdottir.  
A fierce shieldmaiden and a fiercer queen.  
Young Uxi stood in front of the rock cradling his child warm in woolen blankets. For a while, he stood atop of the buried ash. Nothing here. Of all the times he came here, this time was different. He could almost feel her here, looking over his newborn son with her thin willowy fingers.

“Do you remember when you were a boy? When your mother told you of my father’s death?”

A voice calls out to him– Ivar. His father stands behind him with his cane in hand. Uxi turns to him with tears yet still streaming down his supple cheeks toward his reddish beard. His chest raises in the suddenness of the moment.

“I… yes?” Uxi says, looking down to the sleeping child in his arms.

“I was visited by Odin after my father’s death.” Ivar states. He limps forward to the stone in which they both brought up in memory of a woman that few loved like they did. Of them all, Ivar thinks, Uxi loved her the most. “In this rock, you can be visited by her.”

“How?”

He complentates the thought that Kitta would be here. How could she be here… when… when she was burnt to the ground? Uxi hates being weak. Ever since Kitta told him to be strong… he had tried. But it was hard. It was really freaking hard. He had been strong for his father for years. Years of raiding and defending his home and finally now things were slowing for him. The slower things became, the harder it was to curve this burning ache in his chest.

“Speak to her.” Ivar suggests in one smooth suggestion.

There were so many days she missed.

“I can’t.” Uxi replies.

The things she would never see.

“You can.” Ivar says as if it would be so easy. “You can do anything you want to.”

The places they would never go.

“Father…” His voice raises at this. He becomes so harsh that he hardly realizes that the resentment brewing behind his words turn in his direction. It wasn’t simply because his father had two wives. It was… that he hadn’t taken her words seriously. “Do you know the days that I have spent reasoning with myself that this wasn’t my fault? That I did not lose my other mother because I was weak?”

The silence is deafening. Ivar’s both hands come on top of his cane while his son begins to pour out his sobbing wet emotions.

“She was MY MOTHER too and you robbed me for your selfishness.” Uxi bites out to his father unlike he had done in years. “She should have been here with mother to help my wife push through her pain. To help me accept him into my home and teach me how to hold him. Instead I am left with nothing but this guilt!”

Then the rock shakes– and Uxi realizes its his fist that has collided with it. His fist bears a significant amount of pain and he knows his knuckles have broken skin. Then as they stand there, Uxi feels a ghost like sensation from his knuckles up his broad shoulders. He dares look up, lacking his typical pride. There from on top of the rock, a fine woman in a lovely red gown sits. Her warm red furs caress her proud fox-like face.

“Mother.” Uxi’s breath fails him.

“Hello Uxi. Nothing and everything has changed.”

She spoke. She spoke in that deep silk that caressed him to sleep. Euphoria streams through his veins as he looks to her. It feels… hot. Like the very place is a warm summer afternoon. Uxi doesn’t care. He’d stay there a thousand nights if only it meant he could see her.

“I have a son.” Uxi wants to offer up the small bundle. The ghost like woman leans over to the baby underneath warm wool. She motions for him to move the wool from his soft skin. Kitta nods gently, raising back to sit up in wispy mist.

“Beautiful. He looks like his grandmother.”

Uxi fears the resentment in such a statement. He glances up to her green eyes– but instead of the hateful nature he had so been used to, there was nothing there. Nothing but peace and quiet in her normally neurotic features.

“Yes.” He laughs. “I guess he does.”

“The waiting for my family is so long.”

Then like the hot mist she is, she evaporates. The coolness of the air hits him and Ivar both. They look between one another with unspoken agreement while considering what this abandoned place would become in the future. A barrow where his family would come to pray– because if long and long she’ll wait, long and long they would visit.


End file.
